A Bat Outta the Hellmouth
by Shadow Master
Summary: (BtVS/Nolan-verse Batman/Arrow/The Flash[2014]/Others) Have you ever wondered how certain the events in your past truly were? How easily they could've gone a different way? This is one such story.
1. Chapter 1

"A Bat Outta the Hellmouth" by Shadow Master

(BtVS/Nolanverse Batman/Arrow/The Flash[2014 TV]/Others)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the copyrighted material contained herein. They are they rightful property of their respective creators and associated companies. I make no profit from this whatsoever and I have no intention of changing this at any point in the future. I write this story because it's fun and because there are those who enjoy reading my work. Therefore it would be appreciated if no legal action were taken against me because I can promise that what you'll get from me won't cover even a tenth of your legal fees.

Note: I know, I KNOW, I have a ton of in progress fanfics and many of you likely think I shouldn't start up a new one until I've completed half the ones already posted online. The truth is that with the airing of the new show 'The Flash' which is a spinoff from the show 'Arrow' I just thought it fit perfectly with my idea for a Batman crossover. After all the tech and background of the Nolan-verse Batman films is pretty consistent with the universe 'Arrow' takes place in and with a little work I can probably bring in the other main members of the Justice League. As long as my muse is interested in the idea I'll keep doing it.

Note 2: While I will be doing my best to keep to facts revealed in the movies and TV shows I may occasionally take elements from the mainstream comic book universe when plot appropriate.

 _A Bat Outta the Hellmouth_

 _ **Nanda Parbat, Tibet**_

 _ **1985**_

 _ **Ra's Al Ghul's POV**_

"You are certain of this information?" he asked as he stood before what looked to be a child, colored gold and crimson, wearing a formal kimono.

"Quite certain, Mister Demon!" the girl replied, sounding like they were talking about a day at the park. "The heir of the enemy you seek to remove will arise from the tragedy a dark knight, opposing your plans and delaying your progress by decades, if not half a century."

"Thank you, my dear. I'll make sure Ubu comes by to hear your requests," he said as he turned to leave. "Should they be feasible, they shall be fulfilled within two weeks."

"Thank you, Mister Demon!" the girl said as he left the room and closed the door behind him.

While the girl, Pythia, could be considered borderline insane, her precognitive abilities could not be denied. They had proven themselves long reaching, sometimes a full century in advance, and with sufficient accuracy that he considered her to be an asset worth protecting as well as indulging. Since she had first come into his possession over two hundred years ago, her predictions had expedited his work impressively, eliminating delays caused by the… insufficient diligence of others. However this new prediction of hers regarding his plans for Gotham put something of a wrinkle into his efforts to cut out the corruption that festered in that city. Rife with corruption, greed and filth, it was to be yet another in a long line of cities the League of Assassins had destroyed in order to remove its stain from the face of the planet. It would be a slow death if left to itself, given that there were a few residents capable of delaying its demise, but none capable of reversing it. It'd been his intention to use the local crime families to remove these stabilizing elements in order to hasten the death of Gotham but now it seemed that would be a poor choice.

If Martha and Thomas Wayne were slain, their son Bruce would emerge from the experience a threat capable of costing him decades of work.

While a small part of him wanted to scoff at the idea of one boy, no matter how rich, proving capable of inflicting that much damage to his organization, past experience with Pythia demanded he take the matter seriously. Eliminating both the parents and the child would seem to be an effective solution but, even with his dedication to his cause, the thought of killing a child left a bitter taste in his mouth. Some might call him a monster for the things he'd done over the course of the last six hundred years and, honestly speaking, there were a few acts that he felt regret over, but he was not a monster. He was a man who saw the world as it truly was and had the strength of will to do what was necessary in order to safeguard it from the darkness spewed by some of its inhabitants. Bruce Wayne was still a child and it would be decades before the wealthy heir matured enough to be considered a credible threat. By that time his plans for Gotham would have all but succeeded and would be quite beyond anyone's ability to reverse. With any luck the Wayne heir would relocate to some other city before the end to live out his life as most sole heirs did.

 _There must be some way to remove the boy as a threat to my mission and yet still eliminate the Wayne family as a stabilizing influence on Gotham,_ he thought as he walked towards his chambers.

It wasn't until he passed a trio of sorcerers loyal to him that he was reminded of something his North American paranormal intelligence division had informed him of two months ago. A warlock by the name of Richard Wilkins was attempting to acquire a rather rare gemstone imbued with power from seven generations of demon lords. There were rumors about why he needed the power, ranging from challenging the Wolf, the Ram and the Hart to simply increasing the power of the obscuras spell that kept the inhabitants of his town of Sunnydale from the truth. On the surface Wilkins' town was just a sleepy Californian town, completely unremarkable and easily forgettable. However the truth of the matter was that it sat atop a weak point in the dimensional barriers between this dimension and what could only be considered hell by humankind. The weakness was not so great that demons from the other side could cross over unaided but the stench of hell still leaked through the gaps, causing those capable of sensing it to move towards it. From sorcerers intending to tap into the power of demonic energy to tainted creatures that drew strength from just being in close proximity to the mouth of hell, it was a hot spot.

Wilkins was the mayor of the little town, managing both the humans and the demonic without letting the former know about the latter. Mostly this was done through use of the obscuras spell that prevented humans from making the connection between what they saw and the paranormal, but it also meant employing the tainted who lived in his town to eliminate certain troublemakers. Being the administrator for such a location could be quite lucrative so long as you had the power to retain your position and make it clear how unwise it would be for 'business partners' to go back on their word. Given that Wilkins had managed to retain his position for over half a century proved he had sufficient power, cunning and ruthlessness to overcome any who opposed him. That was not to say that there were none who were fearsome enough that even Wilkins needed to act humble towards but most of those considered Sunnydale to be… immaterial… to their plans. They all knew that if the hellmouth opened they would be reduced to lowly dogs by the pure demons that'd come through, so the smart ones had no interest in doing so or engaging in activities that might result in the same. Much like him, so long as nothing Wilkins did or allowed to happen threatened what was his or his future plans, they allowed the warlock to do as he would.

A plan formed in his mind as he considered Sunnydale and the warlock who ruled it.

It was a daring plan but at the same time it would be effective.

His plan for removing Thomas and Martha Wayne was meant to discourage as well as demoralize the citizens of Gotham who thought that their city could be saved. It would embolden the criminal element as well since it would shatter what hope their victims had left, making them easier to intimidate and take advantage of. As they gorged themselves on the opportunities, the spirit of Gotham City would break, making it ripe for his forces to finally destroy, leaving nothing but ruins to mark where it once stood.

However in his long years of experience, he'd learned that there was more than one way to break the spirit of a city and some of them made the murder of two of its more prominent members seem downright civil by comparison. It didn't take him long to eliminate each possibility until only one remained.

"Ubu." he said to get the attention of his loyal servant.

"Yes, Master?" Ubu asked subserviently.

"Bring me the files we have on criminal organizations and cults that have been known to abduct children. Ones that the majority of the federal agencies on the planet are well aware of but have not been able to make substantial headway in locating or shutting down," he replied, already skimming through his own memories. "Also bring me a list of reliable freelancers who've done work for us in the past but who wouldn't look out of place working for the first group."

"The information will be in your hands within the hour, Master." Ubu said before turning in the direction of their intel division.

He would have to wait until he got the information he required before the particulars could be pinned down but the basic plan was sound. He would entice the organization he chose to carry out an operation in Gotham either with the promise of an excellent 'selection' or with a financially lucrative business arrangement requiring they go there to acquire the 'merchandise'. Perhaps he'd tell them that he had plans to test a new indoctrination method for young recruits. Perhaps he'd tell them that one of his chief operatives had an experiment that required young, malleable minds. In the end he'd say anything that would get them to do as he wished and, once they were there, he'd wait until they met half their required quota before instructing the freelance operative to choose Bruce Wayne. The freelancer would, of course, be ultimately loyal to him and him alone. He or she would do whatever was necessary to ensure that the Wayne boy was delivered to him alive and unharmed, even if it meant ratting out the organization to the local authorities once he took possession.

Once the young boy was in his possession he would acquire the gemstone Wilkins wanted and offer it in exchange for one thing: that Bruce Wayne never leave Sunnydale.

In fact he would ask that Wilkins alter the boy's memories as well as the necessary number of citizens of Sunnydale to make it appear as though he'd always been there. If the warlock could keep an entire town of people oblivious to the paranormal and demonic happenings that went on in their midst, then inserting a newcomer like that would be child's play.

After that he would manipulate things so that the boy's parents would continue to search even after the authorities had written Bruce off for dead. However he would carefully orchestrate the search from behind the scenes to both distract them from their efforts to help Gotham while at the same time break their spirits with a series of leads that ultimately went nowhere. In the end they would appear to the people as yet another tragic tale of how things worked in their increasingly hopeless city discouraging any who shared aspirations similar to the Wayne family. It would have the same effect he'd originally intended when he planned for the deaths of Thomas and Martha Wayne but without creating the nemesis Pythia had warned him of.

Thus, like all the other problems that had appeared before him during his centuries' long quest, he had divined the perfect solution.

 _ **David Cain's POV**_

 _They're late,_ he thought as he calmly sipped on his tea. _I hate it when they're late._

Still, he'd been approached through the usual channels and half of his standard fee had already been deposit in his Swiss bank account, so he could afford to wait another hour before blowing this little meeting off. Like any good professional he'd done a quick background check on who wanted to hire him in order to determine if it'd wind up being more trouble than it was worth or if his employer wouldn't hold up their side of the bargain. In this case, though, all he'd gotten from his check was they had resources AND some pretty big fish were afraid of spilling too much specific info about them. In the sort of circles he travelled there were only two ways to keep something a secret: you either paid the right people to keep their mouths shut or you used fear to remind them what'd happen if they blabbed. He could think of only a handful of people or organizations that could inspire that level of fear in the people he'd checked with.

He'd wait until his tea party partner showed up before he formally agreed to take on the assignment.

It was minutes later before someone sat down across from him and thankfully it wasn't another woman looking to pick him like he was some slab of beef that looked tasty. Instead it was a bald man wearing what looked to be a custom made suit that likely hid considerable muscle, making him look more like an enforcer rather than a handler or middle man.

"You're late," he said, looking the man in the eyes.

"Apologies, Mister Cain. Traffic," Mister Big Man said in a deep, booming voice.

Not likely the truth but not the worst lie that could've been offered.

"Then let's get to business so we can both make up for lost time," he said in a no nonsense tone of voice. "What's the job?"

"My employer wishes you to make contact with an international slaver operation known as the Crimson Network," Mister Big Man replied, putting a folder on the table. "Inside the folder is what you are permitted to offer them in order to ensure they carry out one of their subtle operations in Gotham City, USA. If they inquire about the reasons, those are also located in the folder. You are to accompany their forces there and officially monitor their activities to ensure that my master's will is done."

"And unofficially?" he asked, knowing that there was always an 'unofficial' side to any clandestine operation.

"Unofficially you are to ensure that Bruce Wayne, son of Thomas and Martha Wayne, is among those taken. Once the boy has been secured you will remove him from the others abducted and relocate to a secure location outside of Gotham City," Mister Big Man replied, not missing a beat. "Keep the Crimson Network believing that it isn't just Bruce Wayne that is the ultimate objective. Once the number of abductees exceeds fifteen, including the Wayne boy, begin using shock tactics on the citizenry, the police and the families of those taken. The level of the shock will be left at your discretion. My master wants all but the Crimson Network to fear for the safety and well-being of those taken but not to the point where they will assume that the kidnapped people are almost certainly dead."

"You're trying to mess with minds of the boy's parents." he said, being able to see through to the truth.

"…you are as perceptive as your file indicates," Mister Big Man said with a slight grin. "Yes, the overall objective, the one that will be achieved through Bruce Wayne's abduction, will be to psychologically and emotionally compromise his parents. My master wishes for them to be too distracted searching for their son to focus on anything else for years. He has plans for Gotham, plans that will be facilitated by a decided lack of involvement on the parts of Thomas and Martha Wayne."

It was a sick plan but, then again, it was rare that law abiding people ever sought out his services.

"Once you have achieved maximum effect with the shock tactics you will leave the city with the boy, leaving the Crimson Network to their own devices. You will travel to the state of California, specifically the town of Sunnydale, and meet with Mayor Richard Wilkins at an address listed in the file," Mister Big Man said, continuing the briefing. "You will then turn over Bruce Wayne to his custody and leave. Once we have confirmation that the exchange has taken place and Mayor Wilkins has upheld his end of the bargain, you will be paid the remaining half of your payment. Is this agreeable?"

"It's agreeable," he replied, unable to think of any one thing that was reason enough for him to refuse the job.

"Then we leave the matter in your hands, Mister Cain." Mister Big Man said as he stood up from his chair. "Keep in mind, though, that while my master's patience is great, it is not infinite."

From that point on he was alone with his thoughts but, after finishing his drink, he picked up the file folder, paid his bill and began walking back towards the hotel he was staying at. Only an amateur would look at the contents where anyone with decent vision and a level of curiosity could read some of the contents. Still, he had the broad strokes of his job and, while mildly distasteful, the pay was enough that his dislike would only motivate him to bring it to a swift end. Some might say he should ask what would become of the Wayne boy. Others might encourage him to dig deeper to see what the grand scheme was in case there were future job opportunities.

Those people were either fools or greedy.

He was neither.

If during the course of a job he came across information that threatened him personally or his future job prospects, only then would he act beyond the scope of his job.

It was the sign of a true professional to keep their mind focused on the job they were hired to do, to do it well and to not ask questions that were irrelevant with regards to the job.

He was nothing if not a professional.

 _ **Thomas Wayne's POV**_

 _ **Wayne Manor**_

"Bruce! It's almost time to go!" he yelled as he walked towards where his son was playing with the little girl of one of the mansion employees.

"Aawww, do I havta?!" Bruce asked as he stopped chasing Rachel.

"Yes, you havta!" he said in mock repetition as he knelt in front of his son. "We've devoted a great deal of time, money and resources to the construction of Gotham's new monorail, so it only natural that we be there for its grand opening."

"But it'll be BORING!" Bruce groaned like only a four year old could.

"I admit that it can get a little tedious having to do a speech and listen to other people give their speeches, but it is part of the price that needs to be paid in order to help people," he said with a grin, conceding his son's point. "Still, if it'll make you happy, I'll have Alfred make some of his famous apple pie and it'll be ready for us to have after dinner tonight. Good enough?"

"Good enough!" Bruce exclaimed with joy at the treat he'd be getting later on.

Truth be told, he'd requested Alfred make the pie over an hour ago but his son didn't know that and, if it made the boy behave better at the monorail's opening, so much the better.

"Then go put on your formal clothes and meet us at the front entrance in fifteen minutes," he said before turning to little Rachel. "As for you, young miss, I believe your mother is looking for you. Assuming you're not busy I'm sure I can have Alfred set aside a slice of pie for you as well."

"Thank you, Mister Wayne." Rachel said with a polite curtsey in her brown dress before she ran off to find her mother.

His son ran off as well, no doubt making it a race to see if he could get dressed and get down to the front doors in less than fifteen minutes. Chuckling he began to make his way to the master bedroom, where his wife was likely finished getting ready and was waiting on him with a suit all picked out for him. It was one of the many reasons he was so grateful that she'd said 'yes' when he had popped the question to her back in college, that she could so efficiently run the domestic side of things while he dealt with the business part. Running Wayne Enterprises was very demanding even when he delegated certain tasks to other people and the fact that he also worked at Gotham General Hospital when necessary only made his free time even harder to come by. Gotham, his hometown, was not in the best of conditions at the moment but the monorail he and his friend Lucius Fox had built was a step in turning things around. With its completion, Gothamites now had a quick and easy means of getting anywhere in the city and that meant they would not have to spend money on gas or taxis. They could then use the money they save towards paying their rent or buying food or making sure they had enough heating oil when winter came around.

The Monorail was just the first of many similar projects he had in mind for improving the lives of Gotham's citizens so that they no longer felt quite so depressed and bereft of hope. Still, he'd have to wait a year before he could risk approaching the Wayne Enterprises board of directors with the next one, given how much the monorail had cost them with only marginal profit to show for it. While some on the board were like him in that they desired to help pick up the city out of the recession it was sinking deeper into, others… others were only concerned with the bottom line. People like William Earle occasionally approached him with the idea of taking the company public, saying that it'd be more profitable for all members of the board, but he rejected the idea. If the company went public then it'd be hard to block proposals to branch out into areas of business that he opposed on personal principles if nothing else. Too many of the business ventures that were profitable made their money off of the suffering of others and he would never allow his company to descend to the same level as GothCorp.

 _People like Ferris Boyle and Roland Daggett are prime examples of the forces that are dragging this city down,_ he thought with a frown as he approached. _If they're not working with Carmine Falcone, they're borrowing tactics from the mobster's playbook._

He read the newspapers just like everyone else and knew that the police were struggling to gather both sufficient witnesses and evidence to shut down the criminal's operation. However, every time it looked as though they had enough to put the mob boss behind bars, something would always happen to get the case dismissed. Either a key witness would turn up dead before they could testify or a critical piece of evidence would be 'lost', preventing the prosecution from linking what remained into a coherent picture. Everyone from the commissioner to the detectives in charge of the investigation promised that they would continue to work as hard as possible to put the crime boss behind bars but it'd been many years since they began their efforts.

People were beginning to accept Falcone as a permanent fixture of their city.

"You know I hate it when you frown like that," Martha said once he entered their bedroom. "It means something's bothering you and unless I do something right away, you'll be distracted all week."

"Just wondering about how long I'll have to wait before I can move onto the next big project," he explained even as he began to change into the suit his wife had picked out for him. "Earle wasn't exactly pleased when the final cost of the monorail was tallied and I'm afraid that if I try too soon, he'll raise six different kinds of hell with the board of directors."

"William just wants to make sure you won't bankrupt the company and put him out of work," she said with a sigh of acceptance. "You might own controlling interest in the company but you're not the only one who'll pay the price if Wayne Enterprises goes under."

While he'd like to reassure her that it wouldn't be that bad, he did have to concede that he was running things a little too close to the financial red line for some people's tastes. He had personal confidence that his company would rebound money-wise soon enough but he couldn't run Wayne Enterprises alone so he needed to balance his desires with the personalities of the board members. Perhaps one day, once they were all sufficiently convinced that projects like the monorail really were for the best and, while costly in the short term, it'd be profitable in the long term. When people felt safe, when they believed that things could get better, they spent more and began to make grander plans then they would if they were afraid or discouraged. By helping Gotham the way he wanted to, he was sowing the seeds for future profitability.

 _Hopefully by the time Bruce takes over as head of the company, the people under him will have more faith in the Wayne family or Gotham won't need such grand gestures._ he thought as he finished putting on his tie, only for Martha to straighten it for him.

"Shall we see if Bruce is ready?" he asked with a smile on his face.

"You bribed him with Alfred's apple pie?" she asked, knowing what likely happened.

"Indeed I did. I figure it'll buy at least twenty minutes of good behavior before he starts looking for trouble," he replied as they left the master bedroom for the front doors of the mansion.

They both had to chuckle in amusement at the image of their son behaving for a while before sneaking away to find something 'fun' to play with. They both knew that they'd keep a close eye on him but it was still funny to imagine.

 _ **David Cain's POV**_

"We need to do something more dramatic," he said, looking at the person the Crimson Network had assigned to run the operation in Gotham City. "The police are aware of the operation but the newspapers only have a page five article and the television stations are only making vague mentions of the missing people. You'd think with half of them being children it'd be a more newsworthy event."

"In our case, Mister Cain, no news is good news," Mister Creedly said, not sounding unhappy with the current state of things in the least. "Too much fanfare will get every police officer in Gotham on the streets looking for us and make it harder for us to meet your employer's quota."

"Or make it easier. If they're scrambling about looking for a kidnapping operation, they'll jump on any credible lead they come across," he said, countering the man's concerns with his own point of view. "Time it right and, while they're laying down rubber converging on a location on the east side of town, you have your people snatch someone up from the west side of town. Tweak the 'anonymous tips' as needed to ensure they bite at it even if they suspect that it's a diversion and we can get a lot of mileage out of the tactic."

"We would have to abduct more each night in order to meet the quota but your plan has merit." Mister Creedly said, nodding in agreement with the plan. "How would you like us to 'kick things off', as the Americans say?"

"In one hour the monorail system constructed by Wayne Enterprises will be brought online and the first load of passengers will board for destinations across Gotham," he replied, laying out the battle plan he'd constructed. "That is where we will pluck our assortment of 'merchandise' from. We'll make it look like we intended to hold the passengers for ransom and, once the 'pressure' rises high enough, we'll escape with our hostages-slash-property and disappear for a week or so. Then we'll use our diversions and misdirection to fill the rest of the quota set by my employer before leaving Gotham behind."

"It will certainly be high profile enough but we would need more time to properly plan such an operation," Creedly said, sounding mystified at the lack of time, "If we 'fly by the seat of our pants' on this, there will be more things that could go wrong."

"Don't worry. I've been working on it ever since the date of the Monorail's opening made the newspapers," he said before handing a folder over to Creedly. "Familiarize yourself with it and brief your men. We leave for the grand opening in forty-five minutes."

Creedly skimmed through the folder and with every page looked increasingly pleased with what he saw until it was clear he would not hinder things further.

"You are a frighteningly clever man, Mister Cain," Creedly said as he closed the folder. "I shall instruct my men on how things will go."

With that he was alone again and was slightly disappointed that the man hadn't said something like 'and should you ever need employment elsewhere, look me up'. If the discussion had ended that way he'd have had all the provocation he'd have needed to vividly and verbally make it clear what he thought of the Crimson Network's activities. Since the day he'd first started working with them to the present, he'd learned what kind of people they were and who they did business with. While he was no saint and never would get into heaven, he liked to think that he had a certain code that kept him from wallowing in the same muck as the true dregs of the human race.

The Crimson Network was definitely run by such dregs and it sickened him to have to remain professional with them.

Still, with the abduction of the Wayne boy today, he could soon look forward to saying goodbye to the whole lot of them. He already had his escape plan for getting out of the city undetected in place as well as two contingency plans should the primary strategy fail for some reason. He'd definitely be phoning in his 'anonymous tip' on his way out of the city, along with all the information he could recall on how the Network operated. The sooner the dregs were shut down, the happier he'd be. Sure, he would need to stick around long enough to ensure that Thomas and Martha Wayne were in the state of mind his employer wanted them to be in but after that, he was gone.

 _Guess I better get ready too,_ he thought as he began to walk to the room where he stored his gear. _If one of these fuckwits screws up, it'll be up to me to get things back on track._

A part of him couldn't help but snark that it'd be WHEN one of the fuckwits screwed up rather than IF.

 _ **Bruce Wayne's POV**_

"Times are tough all over. Some of you might think that the wealthier members of Gotham City are oblivious to the hardships those less fortunate are facing, but this is not true," his dad said from behind the podium. "Businesses monitor what's selling and what isn't. It monitors who is buying and who isn't. As a doctor I see cases every day of people made sick because they can't afford proper food and whose homes are dangerously close to violating several health laws. So I know things are difficult for you. However it is my intention that this monorail, a cheap and fast way to commute through Gotham, will be the first step in returning prosperity and hope to our city! Thus it is with great pride that I declare the Gotham City Monorail officially OPEN for use!"

With that his dad used the giant scissors to cut the red ribbon blocking the stairs that led up to where the train was waiting for everybody. Everyone cheered and he was so happy that people liked his dad for making the train in the first place. It would help people save money so they could spend it on food and medicine, his mother had told him, and that was good. It was always supposed to feel like this when you did something good for someone else.

His mother took him by the hand and led him after his father up the steps to the monorail train, along with some other important people who'd been standing with his dad. It was time for the first official ride of the train and HE was going to be on it! He'd never ridden a train like this before and from so high up he'd get to see the city like he never had before. It'd be fun!

As soon as they got inside the train he immediately looked for the best seat that would let him look out at Gotham and maybe be close enough to where the driver was to look at what he was doing. It'd been fun the few times Alfred had let him sit in his lap and drive the limo in a circle in front of the mansion but he remembered being annoyed that he hadn't been allowed to take it out onto the road. Still, it made him interested in seeing how you were supposed to drive things even if it'd be a long time before he was old enough to do it on his own.

Looking back at the other people on the train, he could see that some of them were having as much fun as he was while others looked the same as if they were riding in a taxi. Wasn't this supposed to make them happy? Maybe they were like Rachel when he talked about his Grey Ghost action figures. Rachel was his best friend but she was never that impressed with his action figures, preferring her pretty dollies or Barbie Dolls that he couldn't see the appeal of no matter how hard he tried. With her he'd just written it off as a girl thing but with the other people on the train, he just guessed that they liked other things.

He was about to ask his mother what station they'd be getting off at when he noticed six men with big coats moving up towards the door closest to the front of the train. It was a bit odd since, even if he didn't know the specifics, he was pretty sure that they were at least fifteen minutes from the next station. Wasn't getting up now a little too early? Things only got more strange when two stopped close to doors near the rear of the car and two more stopped at the doors near the front of the car, and the last two kept on walking. Did they want to make sure they were the first ones off? Were they in a hurry or something?

It was only when one of the last two men went towards where the driver was that he felt fear for, just before that man walked through the doorway, he pulled something from his jacket that he'd remembered from a TV show.

A gun!

BANG-BANG!

"Alright, listen up! As of right now my men and I OWN this train!" the lone man at the front yelled so that all could hear him. "The only way ANY of you get off is if Gotham City Hall pays us two hundred and fifty MILLION dollars! They'll have seven hours to come up with that money and for every hour they're late, ONE of you will DIE!"

Everyone was frightened. HE was frightened!

His mother held him close but he thought this was to comfort herself as much as it was to comfort him since she was clearly just as frightened as he was. He hoped that the people in city hall could get the money to these bad men quickly because he didn't want to find out who'd die if they didn't.

"And before any of you gets any bright ideas about rushing us because we number only six, may I draw your attention to this little beauty!" the bad man said holding some sort of metal thing with wires and a button in his hand. "This is what we in the explosives community call a dead man's switch! What it means is that once I press the button here… like so, I cannot ever let go or else a bomb hidden on this train will explode, killing everyone here! So just sit down in your seats and stay quiet and MAYBE you'll get to return to your pathetic lives soon!"

His fear was great.

Never in his entire life had he ever felt like this because he always had his mom, his dad and Alfred to keep him safe. Now they were in just as much trouble as he was and there was nothing they could do about it but wait and hope.

He soon learned to HATE waiting in fear.

 _ **Commissioner Loeb's POV**_

"TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY MILLION DOLLARS!? ARE THESE GUYS NUTS!?" Mayor James yelled in a mix of disbelief and fury. "DON'T THEY REALISE THAT GOTHAM IS CIRCLING THE DRAIN FINANCIALLY!?"

"Calm down, Aubrey," he said even if he wasn't exactly in a good place emotionally himself. "If we're to resolve this situation, we need to keep calm."

"CALM?! We've got less than four hours to come up with a quarter of a BILLION dollars!" Aubrey exclaimed before walking behind his desk and dropping into his plush leather chair. "Even if we empty every bank in Gotham we'll barely be able to come up with HALF of that."

He couldn't argue with the man because, much like anyone that cared about the state of the city, he knew that things were not going well economically for Gotham. He had confidence that they could beat the economic problems plaguing the city that were driving more people to desperation, to say nothing of crime. Sadly this also allowed the local outfits and crime bosses to expand their territories as well as trick people in compromised positions to take out 'loans' that they'd only ever be able to pay back in 'favors' of an illegal nature. He was doing his best to go the extra mile for the people under him but he knew that the best he'd be able to do was delay their time of desperation a few weeks. After all, as Commissioner of the Gotham City Police Department, he had to work within the law, within the procedural framework the system operated under, and that came with some bothersome limitations.

"What if… what if we contact Metropolis?" he asked as an idea formed in his mind. "It's close enough that if we call the mayor there NOW they might be able to make up the difference. Have them load the money into every armored truck they've got and push the speed limit the entire way."

"Get on it, Loeb! We haven't got a second to waste!" Aubrey ordered with a look that implied that heads would roll if things didn't end just perfectly with the current crisis.

With a nod he left the mayor's office and made his way back to his office where his top people were waiting for him to receive their assignments while others of the GCPD worked to identify the perps from the security cameras and news cameras that'd been at the grand opening. Some of his detectives with… 'friends' in the criminal underworld were also asking around trying to see if this was a locally planned hostage taking or if someone from out of town was behind it all. The more information that they could get on who they were dealing with, the better they could anticipate their moves and get the drop on them. They'd also know if they were in over their heads if the skill sets and rap sheets that came up proved them to be decidedly more skilled than the training the police academy made the GCPD. He'd hate it if he had to call in feds to help; they never had a good thing to say about Gotham City and always made it sound like THEY were the real cops helping out the rookies.

Still, he had to keep it open as an option considering the VIPs on that train, especially the Wayne family. Thomas had been a big help in aiding the city financially and, by all reports, was almost redlining his company to do it. If something happened to him and his family as a result of this situation then he'd be lucky if all that happened was the papers slamming him for it. More than likely the possibility of him being fired for his failure would be considered by Mayor James either to cover his own ass or prove to the public that he was doing something.

Getting into the car waiting for him outside City Hall, he began to consider options for neutralizing the hostage takers and retaking the train based on what he knew right then and there. There were six of them, all in the lead car with the VIPs, armed with a combination of automatics and semi-automatics that'd been concealed beneath their coats until they put their plan into motion. The fact that they were able to get in place and seize the car before anyone had a clue that something was wrong implied a certain level of skill and experience. He'd have some of the desk jockeys look through old files to see if there were any similar crimes committed in the past. While the GCPD had access to some good snipers, trying to hit six specific people on something moving as fast as the monorail was would be difficult to say the least. If they could stop it at a place of their choosing, a place where the snipers were already in place, then the odds of success went up but that left the bomb to worry about. According to the single phone call made after the monorail had been seized, the explosive was linked to a dead man's switch that was already active.

If they dropped the perps before dealing with that, they'd be picking up pieces of hostages for days.

 _We need to take the bomb out of the equation at the same time we stop the train,_ he thought as his destination came into sight. _But how do we do it?_

Getting out of his car, his eyes fell upon a movie poster hung up on a nearby community bulletin board and a glimmer of an idea came to mind. The movie involved a planet wide EMP sending everyone back to the Stone Age and causing civilization to fall apart while the lead characters struggled to survive. He didn't think anything near that big would be needed but he remembered one of the most widely known facts about EMPS: they completely shorted out any unprotected electrical system.

Like detonators or the electronic components of the bomb itself.

"Gordon! Get on the horn to Gotham State University!" he ordered, spotting one of his newer officers. "Find out the feasibility of slapping together a device capable of emitting a localized EMP in three hours and making it mobile! It needs to be powerful enough to knock out everything within a three… no, make that FIVE block radius!"

A nod from the beat cop who he personally thought had potential and the man was off to the nearest phone to start exploring the option.

If such a device could be made and then placed at a pre-selected point along the monorail's path, they could fire it just as the lead car reached the mid-point of its range, frying the bomb's circuits, the detonator and the monorail itself, stopping the lead car. If he put snipers at all the best vantage points surrounding where it was projected to stop, they could then drop the perps before they could do more than wonder what was going on. It was a solid plan and it didn't involve bringing in the feds or getting a dressing down from the mayor for not doing his job.

He entered his office a moment later and immediately began to dish out orders to his top detectives, making it clear that they were on a short clock. He authorized them to use whatever resources they needed to get the information on the perps they needed and to report to him immediately upon learning anything vital. He planned on staying on top of this all the way to resolution and doing everything in his power to get the hostages safely home alive and unharmed.

Just let the universe try and stop him.

 _ **David Cain's POV**_

"Status?" he asked as he checked with the man at the controls of the monorail.

"Nothing yet," the Crimson Network member replied without ceasing his careful appraisal of the cityscape ahead.

"Keep watching. When they move we need to be ready," he ordered, knowing in his head how it was all going to go down but needing the other five to be ready to do their parts.

"You sure you know what's going to happen, Abel?" the CN member asked, sounding a little doubtful.

"I've mapped out this entire operation. It's the only play they've got that doesn't end with filling body bags," he replied, narrowing his eyes a bit at the use of an alias that could be used to figure out his true name.

Sure, he wasn't as shy as some mercenaries about letting the law enforcement community know who he was and what he'd done but the GCPD didn't need to be tipped off to the truth any sooner than necessary.

Hearing some commotion from back where the hostages were, he turned his gaze toward it and saw that one of the CN idiots was getting a little too fresh with one of the young women that were keeping the police off their backs for the time being. While being a little threatening was permissible since it'd keep the civilians in line, getting distracted by your libido was just asking for trouble, especially when the time came for phase two of the plan to begin. Striding towards the undisciplined man, he arrived just in time to grab the fool's right hand moments before it would've touched the young girl's face.

"Keep your mind on the job," he ordered in his most intimidatingly cold tone of voice. "Phase two will be beginning shortly and, unless you want to find yourself a head shorter, you'll stay alert."

"Chill, dude! Just appreciating a local flower," the CN member that sounded like a cliché Californian surfer said, sounding like thought some mellowing out was needed. "Maybe offer to fertilize her garden later."

"If you keep slacking off they'll be using your corpse for fertilizer," he warned, wondering where the Crimson Network recruited their people from and how this idiot had been accepted.

This seemed to have the desired effect, causing the man to go check the rear of the monorail car.

"Thank you," the young woman said, sounding relieved that her tormentor was no longer there.

"Thank me after city hall has met our demands, Miss…" he said, not allowing too soft an image of himself to be perceived.

"Thompkins. Leslie Thompkins." Miss Thompkins, said providing him with a name.

With a nod he walked back to the front of the car, just shy of the control room to await a signal from the man in front. If things went the way he'd planned then the police should soon be ready to make their attempt to retake the monorail and put him along with the CN members down. He'd certainly given them enough subtle hints about the set up so that, if they had even a small amount of intelligence, they'd choose to use a powerful EMP generator. It was the only effective way of both stopping the train and defusing the bomb in one go. Then, if they were anything approaching competent, they'd have decent snipers in every window and on every rooftop that'd give them a clear line of sight to him as well as the Crimson Network thugs.

Timed just right and it'd be quite the coup for whichever cop planned the operation.

Too bad that he'd spent a great many hours walking and, in some cases, driving along the monorail route specifically looking for the best spots for snipers and had them memorized. He'd marked them all out on a sheet in the briefing folder he'd given Creedly to show his men so the guy by the controls would know when to start looking for them and where. The second they confirmed that there were snipers up ahead they'd move to stand in front of a random, not so random for him but random for the rest, person and wait for the monorail to begin decelerating. Once that happened they'd pull the pins on the smoke grenades they each had in their coat pockets, filling the entire car with an obscuring cloud, making it impossible for the sniper's to shoot them. They'd then grab their chosen hostage-cum-meat shield before exiting the monorail via the doors and get down to street level where one of several rented vans would be waiting for them. They'd all clamber inside and then, with some precise detonations to the bases of several telephone poles to hinder pursuit, they'd make their getaway before reinforcements could arrive.

They wouldn't go far, couldn't with the police and news hounds having choppers available to them, just to a warehouse with access to the underground subway tunnels. Things had been made, things had been redesigned and things had been paved over so many times since Gotham was originally built that a lot got lost in the shuffle. As such an old access point that'd been covered up was now exposed and would allow six men plus hostages to get below ground in relatively short order. From there they'd make their way back to where they'd been holed up since arriving in the city and wait a while before resuming their activities. He'd work with his shock and awe tactics while Creedly and his bunch continued to abduct choice people from the streets.

 _Unless some seriously shitty luck comes my way, I'll be out of this city and on my way to the west coast inside of two months,_ he thought as he moved to check with the driver again.

"Anything?" he asked, looking himself for any sign of the police snipers.

"Nothing ye-WAIT! There!" the driving CN man replied, pointing to a rooftop a few blocks away.

Looking at the same spot it looked vacant but, taking out a pair of binoculars, he spotted the feet sticking out from behind a chimney and confirmed the standard issue SWAT boots. He had to admit it was pretty sharp of the CN man to pick them out without binoculars but he could compliment the man later. Turning around, he whistled to get the attention of the other four men before giving them a hand signal he'd repeatedly shown them on the drive over to the grand opening. It basically meant the curtain was going up on phase two and to get ready.

Like clockwork each man moved to stand in front of a suitable hostage while he moved to stand in front of the Wayne family so he could grab the boy. He covertly made sure his taser was within arms' reach so he could neutralize the parents if they tried to fight for their son but hopefully the smoke would confuse them enough that shocking them wouldn't be necessary. When the electronics in the car sparked before going dark and the light on his dead man's switch went out, he knew the EMP had hit and, just like he'd expected, the monorail began to slow down. Tossing the useless detonator aside he took out the smoke grenade, pulled the pin and then dropped it to the ground before putting on the mini-gas mask that'd been hidden beneath his coat. As the sounds of coughing filled the air, he reached out and grabbed the Wayne boy only having to taze the father in order to eliminate the opposition. Moving over to the nearest set of doors he waited for the thug in front of him to open them up before they all began to move onto the monorail platform, then down the stairs to street level. They didn't do it haphazardly but rather they arranged themselves to ensure that their meat shields made it impossible for any cop with a gun to get a clear shot, be they sniper or beat cop.

A screech of tires heralded a large rental van emerging from an alley where it'd been parked and, as it slid to a stop in front of them, the side door slid open, allowing them to get in. One after another the Crimson Network men he'd been with got in along with their shields before the side door slammed shut and the driver slammed down on the gas pedal.

"Do you have it?" he asked referring to their delay preparations.

"Here," the man in the passenger seat said before giving him a detonator.

With the press of a button numerous miniature explosions shatter the bottoms of the telephone poles behind them, causing them to fall nicely across the street. In fact, aside from the street they were driving down to the building with the subway access, all the others were now perfectly obstructed, making it next to impossible for the police cars to follow them.

With speed and decent driving skills they arrived in the warehouse he'd designated less than five minutes later and, once the vehicle came to a stop, they clambered out, heading to subway tunnel access point. Their meat shields, with the exception of the Wayne boy, struggled or begged to be released but it didn't get them anything aside from a backhand across the face. Once they were below ground they began to navigate their way through the tunnels using the subway schedules and statistics he'd acquired to get to their destination without being seen or run over. It was a long walk but it wasn't like they could have transportation ready down there, so eventually they arrived at the surface access point closest to their destination.

Shoving the Wayne boy to one of the thugs, he crept up and looked about the immediate area to see if any witnesses were close by but, when he saw no one of note, he gestured for the rest of the group to advance. He took the real purpose behind this little venture back and in less than two minutes they were safely indoors, away from prying eyes.

"You should see the news, Mister Cain." Creedly said with a smile on his face. "The entire city is going nuts looking for all of you!"

"Good. That was the point," he said as he closed the door to an empty office with Bruce Wayne inside. "By now they'll have identified us from the crowd shots of the monorail opening the local news station was doing as well as the local traffic cameras. By the evening edition of the Gotham Gazette everyone will know that the Crimson Network is in town and what you all do for a living. Add to that the fact that one of the abductees is the heir to the Wayne fortune and I imagine it will be quite unsafe for the six of us to leave this building for at least a week or two."

A spike of concern crossed Creedly's face and he knew that, while the man was likely still willing to go along with the plan, past experience probably conflicted with intentionally letting the local cops know who you were and what organization you belonged to.

"Don't worry, Creedly. Like I said hours ago, the police knowing we're here and who we are can help us," he said as reassuringly as he could manage. "Within the next few days they'll likely have all the information on the Crimson Network that they can get from federal agencies both here and abroad. The FBI might send a few operatives here to aid the police but it'll be mostly the latter who'll try to apprehend us. Thanks to my employers connections, I've already memorized everything they have on your group so I have a pretty good idea of where they'll look and what 'anonymous tips' they will jump on."

This calmed the man somewhat but he could tell the guy was still not one hundred percent happy.

"We will wait two weeks and then fill the rest of our quota before leaving this city." Creedly declared, making it clear expediently meeting their goals was foremost in his mind.

"Good. However I believe it would be best if the Wayne boy were kept someplace separate from the rest of the 'merchandise'. While the odds of them finding this location are low, it is not zero," he said, planting the seeds for what he needed in Creedly's mind. "If they wind up arresting everyone here, having the heir to the Wayne fortune someplace else will let us have a pretty valuable bargaining chip to play to spring whoever got arrested."

"Good idea. I'll have one of my men move him to another location once the heat dies down," Creedly said, nodding in agreement with the last of his concern fading.

"Actually I think it'd be best if I took him someplace. Tonight, preferably," he said, wanting to secure his true objective someplace safe as soon as possible. "It'll take them time to organize their search and, if I sedate him and put him in the trunk of a car, transporting him will be easy enough. I have safe houses scattered across the world. Useful things in my line of work. One happens to be in Gotham. I'll take the boy there."

This caused a bit of suspicion to rise in Creedly as the slaver no doubt was considering the possibility that he was being abandoned to the dogs and didn't much like it.

"Relax. There's a sound proofed room I can lock him in with a couple days' worth of food and water, along with a small bathroom," he said with a reassuring smile on his face. "Once he's inside I only need to check up on him every other day to make sure he's alive. Not much use to us if he dies by accident, right? The rest of the time I'll be splitting my time between distracting the police and setting up my little shock and awe displays."

This dispersed the suspicion but there were still a few bits lingering here and there.

 _I'll have to keep an eye on him until it's time to go,_ he thought as Creedly went to check on his men, who were putting the meat shields turned slaves into the metal cargo containers with the others. _Can't have him trying anything that'll ruin my primary mission._

If worse came to worse and Creedly's people turned out to be more trouble than they were worth… he had a plan for that too.

 _ **Thomas Wayne's POV**_

 _Where are you, Bruce?_ he asked himself as he looked out of the manor library window at the grounds laid out before him.

It had been three days since the men who'd hijacked the monorail had taken his only son from him to God knew where and thus far the police had told him nothing that encouraged him to think his son would soon be found. Instead what they'd told him had increased how afraid he was for his son and had almost caused him to call a press conference so he could offer the kidnappers twice what they'd demanded of city hall if they'd only return his son, but the police commissioner was against that. According to Loeb, the people who'd taken his son were business and profit oriented but without a shred of honor or decency to their names. If he went on television offering to pay for the return of his son, the commissioner believed that they'd simply milk him for whatever cash they could get and STILL hold onto his son for God knew what. The members of the Crimson Network held all the cards and knew they didn't have to concede anything to win. The commissioner reiterated that everything was being done to catch them and recover the abductees safely. All methods of transportation in or out of the city had been shut down, with police and security personnel standing guard at each one. Police teams of five were canvassing every abandoned building, warehouse and factory for any signs of habitation from a week prior to the hijacking to the present. On top of that the commissioner said he was having his best detectives lean on the local crime bosses for any information they might have on the Crimson Network.

 _We'll find your son, Mister Wayne. Count on it,_ were the words Commissioner Loeb had left him with when they last spoke on the phone.

Turning away from the window, he began to make his way to their son's room both to allow it to soothe his troubled mind but also because it was where Martha was spending a great deal of her time since the abduction. He was sure that she was just trying to occupy herself, to distract her mind, rather than give into the temptation to turn on the television to see if there'd been any progress or hover around the phone for the same reason. Whether it was cleaning the room or reorganizing the furniture with some of the household staff, he was sure Martha was just keeping her mind busy. He had his own ways of coping with the absence of his son, ranging from re-examining the design of the monorail for adding some security features to creating his own city-wide camera network. Either option would aid in ensuring that something like this could not happen again either by identifying suspicious individuals within a certain radius of the monorail or allowing the police to follow fleeing criminals all the way. Indeed, once the current economic crisis facing Gotham City was over, he believed it would be essential to devote Wayne Enterprises resources to upgrading every piece of equipment in the GCPD. Everything from their squad cars to their weapons to their protective body armor would be improved upon.

By the time he was done, criminals both local and foreign would think twice before attempting anything in Gotham City.

When he finally entered his son's room, he saw that his wife was going about like a hyperactive humming bird adjusting things or placing them in one place before shaking her head and putting them someplace else. Looking to the side he could see various cleaning implements, making him think that she planned on cleaning the room herself rather than leaving it to one of the mansion's staff. It was an improvement over what she'd been doing before, which was attempting to help Alfred in the kitchen to cook some of Bruce's favorites for WHEN he was found and brought home. His lovely wife was many things but a good cook was not one of them and it had gotten so bad that Alfred had politely as well as discretely asked him to find something else for her to do. After that he'd given her limited access to Wayne Enterprises financial information, asking her to figure out how much they could afford to devote to a ransom if one was demanded. He knew the commissioner said that the Crimson Network was a slaver operation but, with all the newspaper coverage, the kidnappers had to know that they had Bruce Wayne with them. Crooks were only interested in profit or power so, once they realized they had his son, they'd call demanding money… right?

That task had occupied her until this morning and, when she'd told him how much they could gather along with an explanation of how she arrived at the number, he had to agree with her.

Now… now it looked like she'd latched onto something else to keep her mind distracted from her fears.

"You know he'll just move everything around again once he comes home," he said, leaning up against the dresser. "He's always put things where he wants them even if it makes the room look like a pig pen to us."

"I know… I just want things to be perfect for when he… for when he…" she said and he could tell that she was about to break down into tears again.

Rushing across the room, he pulled her into a hug and held her close, hoping she would draw comfort from his presence.

"He will come home! We WILL get our son back!" he promised her with every fiber of his being. "I don't care if I have to spend every cent of every dollar we have to get him back!"

"But what if something happens to him!?" she asked, not quite losing control of her emotions but coming close. "What if we never see him again!?"

"We WILL! You have to hold onto that!" he declared, showing his resolve and hoping that it strengthened hers. "The police are doing everything they can to find him and get him back safely. The kidnappers can't leave the city, so it's only a matter of time before they're found and Bruce is brought back to us. Have faith!"

They stayed in this embrace for almost half an hour, until he felt confident that she had calmed down enough to let go, before heading to the dining room for lunch where Alfred had almost certainly cooked something delicious for them. That was one of the constants that never failed to bring him a measure of comfort: he could always depend on Alfred. Ever since the man had entered into service to the Wayne family, he had been nothing but loyal and dependable, making it easy to trust the British man with just about anything. Indeed, the few nights when they'd had to go out until late they'd felt completely safe leaving their son in the care of their butler and returned later to find their faith justified.

He entered the dining room and, just as he'd though, there was a plate of inviting food waiting for him at his usual chair along with something for Martha once she came down.

"You always know just what we need, don't you, Alfred?" he asked, noticing that the meal prepared was a family favorite.

"Always," Alfred replied with a smile that hopefully would never leave Wayne Manor.

 _ **Detective Ellen Yin's POV**_

"…My…God…" she gasped as she looked at the crime scene before her with her partner.

"Yeah. THAT is why I had the local beat cops quarantine everything within two blocks of this alleyway and work extra hard to keep the press back," Detective Bennett said, sounding like he was just as shaken by what was before them as she was. "If they caught wind of this, it'd be chaos and the commissioner will ride our asses even harder to find those flesh peddlers."

What had them gasping and wanting to keep things quiet?

Crucified up against the brick wall of the left side of the alleyway was a teenage girl, specifically one of the people the monorail hijackers, the Crimson Network, had taken with them when they'd made their escape. Commissioner Loeb had been riding the entire GCPD hard to find these people and find them fast but she doubted that he'd ever want THIS to be their first clue. What made it worse was that the girl had been stripped out of the clothes she'd last been seen in and left with only a strip of cloth around her waist that barely reached past the bottom of her butt cheeks. Add to that a metal 'crown', for want of a better word, on her head, causing blood to trickle down her face and she knew that the religious members of Gotham City would be livid at the imagery. What interested her most, though, was the message painted on the bricks next to the corpse that said 'allow us to leave or more will follow'. Obviously the Network knew they were trapped and intended to use the only bargaining chips they had in order to create an escape route for themselves.

Considering the number of people connected to the abductees, if word got out that keeping the city sown up tight was going to result in more scenes like this… it would not be pretty.

They'd either throw all kinds of heat at the police for not finding the victims or demand that the citywide quarantine be lifted in the hopes that the remaining hostages would be released. However she didn't believe for a second that they'd see any of the abductees again if they pulled people off the roads leading out of Gotham or away from the airports. The scumbags had to know that the moment they let go of their bargaining chips, ANY of them, some members of the GCPD would consider the rest 'acceptable losses' and charge in guns blazing. While some, like her partner and her, believed in following the rules no matter what, others didn't mind… cutting corners to get their collar or looking the other way on some things to get a little under the table help with others. It hadn't gotten too bad yet but she could see that unless something was done to bring the local crime bosses under control and turn around Gotham City's economy, it would get worse.

Much worse.

"How long until forensics gets here?" she asked, hoping the lab boys and girls would be able to give her something to work with.

She REALLY wanted to nail these assholes.

"Granger's on her way now," Bennett replied, continuing to look about the alleyway but avoiding the corpse. "Assuming traffic stays peaceful she'll be here in eight minutes."

"Then we wait for Beth to get here and then we start talking to the witnesses to see if they heard or saw anything," she said, turning towards the entrance to the alley. "Even if she was gagged when they did this to her, there was no way anyone could have rods of steel hammered through their hands and feet without anyone hearing a peep."

Just like Bennet said, their favorite forensic girl arrived on the scene roughly eight minutes later and, once the lady got started, they let the beat cops on the scene watch her back while they began questioning the witnesses. They didn't get much, nothing that would give them an address to surround, but they did get the make as well as the model of a vehicle that had a high probability of being the one the Crimson Network had used. She immediately called it in and had an APB put out on it but it wasn't exactly a rare model so she wasn't holding her breath on getting the perps vehicle anytime soon. Still, if it was found in any place where traffic was minimal, therefore making it suspicious, she'd drag her partner down there to take a look around.

"So what do you think's going on in their heads?" Bennett asked as they drove back to the station. "I mean, you'd think they'd want the heat to die down so the road blocks and check points would be lifted on their own. This is gonna have the opposite effect. This might be enough to get the commissioner to bring in the feds."

"Control. They're reminding us that they're the ones in control and that there'll be a cost if we try to change that," she said after a few minutes of contemplation. "If they'd kept quiet we'd get the idea that we're in control, that they're on the run, and they don't want that. As long as they make sure everyone knows they're in control then they have power over us."

"Well, they don't. Still we're gonna need to work twice as hard from here on out to keep the body count from going up," he said, bringing the car to a stop at an intersection. "We don't know if the Crimson Network is gonna post these warnings every other day or once a week. Hopefully they won't get pissed and change it to once a day."

"You do realize you just jinxed us, right?" she asked, giving him a 'really?' look.

"Jinxes don't exist. It's superstitious nonsense," he replied, shaking his head but not rolling his eyes at her.

"Fine. Learn the hard way," she said with a grin. "Just be prepared for an 'I told you so' when I'm proven right."

 _ **David Cain's POV**_

"I trust you haven't had any trouble filling the rest of my employer's quota?" he asked as Creedly turned to face him.

"No. Your plan for distracting the police worked perfectly," Creedly said with a smile of satisfaction. "While they were running around the city chasing down your 'anonymous tips' and following your carefully planted clues, we were able to acquire some choice 'merchandise' that should please your employer nicely."

"Good. How soon can you be ready to move out?" he asked, glad that his time with these bottom feeders was at an end.

"Our trucks can be loaded and ready to go on the move inside hour," Creedly replied, sounding concerned about the next step. "There's still the matter of getting past the police quarantine around the city. My men have guns but not enough to get out of the city."

"I've got it covered. My employer's agents will bring in a boat big enough to load your trucks on at precisely midnight tonight. Dock fifteen," he replied, lying but not showing a bit of deception on his face. "They'll have more than enough guns on board to keep the police at bay long enough for your people to board and… deter pursuit. I'll also arrange a distraction to draw patrol cars away from the most direct route to dock fifteen from here."

"Your employer anticipated this turn of events?" Creedly asked with mild surprise in his voice.

"My employer believes in planning for every contingency, every turn of events, so that he always gets what he wants," he replied, keeping his tone even without implying anything. "It's also why he hired me. Because he knows I can get the job done."

"Then let us hope that this is not the one time you fail," Creedly said before half turning away. "I will begin preparations for our departure from Gotham City."

"And I will go acquire the Wayne boy so we can all get out of here scot free," he said, turning towards the door of the building's door. "If I'm late go on without me. I'll make sure the distraction goes off without a hitch."

With that he left the building and made his way to the vehicle that would carry both him as well as his primary cargo out of the city. He wasn't lying about putting in place a distraction to allow Creedly and his men to get to the docks without incident, however he was lying about there being a boat to take them to safety. The reason he was directing them there was to provide the police with a nice little box with which to apprehend Creedly and his bunch. With the water on one side and cops covering the place from the other side, they'd have no place to go and the slaver had already made it clear that he didn't have the firepower to overcome police opposition. They'd have no choice but to surrender if they wished to get out of the hopeless situation in one piece but, even if the entire situation turned into a bloodbath, it was no skin off his nose. He was no saint and had more than enough blood on his hands that he wouldn't notice a bucket or two more.

All that mattered was getting out of Gotham City with Bruce Wayne without leaving any trail for the authorities to follow.

Driving through the streets of Gotham, he kept an eye out for the police presence, making sure to keep his movements casual and his face only partially visible any time they looked in his direction. He'd already dyed his hair, cut it in a new style and let some facial hair grow out so it'd take an incredibly sharp eye to connect him to the person involved in the monorail hijacking. Still, everywhere he looked, from street corner to passing lane, there was a police officer or squad car looking for any sign of the hijacker. He'd almost be impressed if it wasn't for the fact that he could have them dance to his tune without any of them suspecting that they were being played. They were bugs that were so not in his weight class. He could kill them by the dozen without breaking a sweat and none of them could play the 'game' at his level.

It didn't take him long reach the safe house where the Wayne boy was stashed and, once he was inside, he began prepping the place to burn down in such a way that it'd be mistaken for an electrical problem when investigated by the fire department. It wasn't hard since he'd been hired to kill people and make it look like they'd died in accidents more than a few times, so doing it now wasn't beyond his abilities. Once he was satisfied that everything was ready he went down into the basement, taking a syringe with the precise amount of sedative needed to put the boy under for a few hours. He'd of course keep the Wayne boy in handcuffs the entire trip, only using a gag from the safe house to the city limits to make sure that nothing prompted anyone to look in the trunk should he be stopped. Once they were out of the city he'd drive all the way to Sunnydale, California, only stopping for gas and the occasional restroom break for either him or the boy.

He was pretty sure that once he crossed the state line he'd be free and clear from trouble of the law enforcement kind since it'd be days, if not weeks, before Gotham P.D. realized that their missing perpetrator had left the city with the heir to the Wayne fortune.

Opening the door to the sound-proofed room, he quickly zeroed in on the kid and, like before, the four year old was frightened of him and looked like he'd been crying recently. However, judging by the empty dishes, the boy's emotional distress wasn't enough to curb the rich kid's hunger and helped him by making sure his cargo would reach its destination in good health.

"Time to go, kid," he said as he knelt down on one knee, reaching for the closest arm. "We're going on a little trip."

"I want to see my mommy and daddy! I want to go home!" Bruce said, sounding like he had some fire in his belly.

"Sorry, but that's not going to happen," he said, quickly sticking the needle in and pressing down on the plunger before the boy could start struggling.

As the sedative took effect he unchained the boy's leg before carrying him up and out of the house, putting him in the trunk of the car. The snap of some cuffs later and everything was good to go for travel. Slamming the trunk shut, he checked his watch and saw that there was about three hours before the 'ship' was due to arrive at the docks so he took out the transceiver in his pocket and pressed the button that'd start the countdown. While Creedly and his men spent their off hours playing cards or watching television, he spent his time planning every step of his stay in Gotham, including his getaway. He used his knowledge of the city traffic, the capabilities of the trucks that would be used and the likely reaction of the police to his 'distraction' to predict down to the second what'd happen. That was why he wouldn't have to wait to make sure things happened the way they were supposed to because the timers on the explosives were set to go off with perfect timing.

Getting into the car, he began to navigate his way towards a way out of the city, which was a little-known railway tunnel that'd been closed off after the project was abandoned two decades ago. He'd canvassed the tunnel entrance every other day to ensure that there was no sign that the authorities had learned of it and, to his knowledge, they hadn't. It'd be a bumpy ride without a doubt but his vehicle could take it and it would take him well clear of the police checkpoints encircling the city. Once the clock hit eleven thirty he'd use a burner cell phone to place an anonymous tip to the GCPD, informing them of where to find Creedly and his men as well as a quick summary of the combat strength. Naturally he'd chuck the cell phone once the call was over with and, if the police tried to backtrack it, they'd find it belonged to an old man at a retirement home. True, once they figured out that the call was made from outside of Gotham and that Bruce Wayne wasn't amongst the rescued or killed hostages, they'd start looking outward for the boy.

That was another reason he planned on driving through the night: to escape the search radius the authorities would set once they believed the son of Thomas and Martha Wayne was no longer in Gotham.

Gas stations would be unavoidable given that it'd be a cross country trip but he'd do his best to choose ones that had security cameras that wouldn't get a clear shot of them. He imagined it'd be difficult but he'd try to choose the ones where the people who worked there would handle the gas pumping rather than some self-serve operation where he'd have to get out.

All in all he was looking at almost a two day straight trip between Gotham and Sunnydale.

 _Nobody better give me any grief on this trip,_ he thought as turned right. _I get REALLY cranky when I go two days straight without sleep._

 _ **Commissioner Loeb's POV**_

 _I am NOT looking forward to this,_ he thought as he pulled up his car to the front of Wayne Manor. _Still, they deserve to know the truth from me._

Getting out of his car, he walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell before waiting for someone to answer it. It didn't take long before he heard the sound of footsteps coming towards the door and, when it opened, he found himself looking at the face of the Wayne family butler.

"May I help you, Commissioner Loeb?" Alfred asked politely from the doorway.

"I need to speak with your employers," he replied, bracing himself for what was about to happen. "There's been a development in the case."

"Of course, sir. Please come in," Alfred said, stepping aside and gesturing him to come inside.

Entering the manor, he was reminded of just how wealthy the Wayne's were and how badly the news he had for them would reverberate throughout Gotham City. This family had ties to numerous businesses through Wayne Enterprises and, if something happened to them, the ripples might trickle down to the smallest of businesses owned by the company. Still, they deserved to know the truth and he would do his best to reassure them that the GCPD would continue its investigation for as long as they could until it got handed over to the feds.

"Commissioner Loeb! Alfred said there'd been a development." Thomas Wayne said, coming down the stairs as fast as he could.

"Yes. Is your wife here? It'd be best if you both heard what I had to say at the same time," he said, not wanting to have to repeat himself.

"She should be along in a moment," Thomas said, sounding a little concerned.

"I'll wait then," he said, holding fast to his desire to keep quiet until all concerned parties were present.

It was ten minutes before Martha Wayne arrived, hope in her eyes and life in her step.

A pang of regret hit him as he realized that he was about to crush that hope, or at least break it down from a brick to pebble size.

"Well, now that we're all here, what's this new development, Commissioner?" Thomas asked, looking at him with curiosity and concern.

"A little over an hour ago we received an anonymous tip that the Crimson Network were making their way to the docks to catch a boat out of Gotham. We were given an idea of their capabilities, their numbers and their armaments. We were even told that there'd be a 'diversion' meant to pull our patrol vehicles away from their travel route to the docks," he replied, trying to keep a steady pace going with his explanation. "We were skeptical due to the number of red herrings we'd gotten but, when the distraction happened precisely when the tipster said it would, we scrambled S.W.A.T. as well as every available officer to head to the docks. Thanks to the advance information we were able to surgically take them down without a single innocent casualty."

"Then Bruce—!" Martha Wayne exclaimed, sounding overjoyed.

"We did locate the remaining abductees and, while malnourished as well as dehydrated, they're expected to make a full recovery. Bruce… was not among them," he said, watching as the hope died in the Wayne family's eyes. "I was there when the operation went down and, once we confirmed your son wasn't there, I personally grilled the man in charge of the group. According to him a middle man for the person who hired them to come to Gotham had your son and was supposed to have joined them at the docks. Given the timing and insider information of the tipster, I believe that this man set up his former comrades to be caught and took off with your son for some reason."

"But why would someone do something like that? Why would he sell out his friends and keep my son?" Thomas asked as fear, confusion and anxiety on his face.

"We don't know. We called up the phone records of the call but they were traced to a prepaid burner phone belonging to a retirement home old man. We did find out, however, that the call was made from outside the Gotham City limits so somehow this guy made it past our checkpoints," he replied, trying to tell the married couple what he did have rather than what he didn't. "I've already put a call up to the feds to get them involved and I'm having every traffic and security camera checked for any unusual vehicles and the routes they took."

He could tell that his words were having little, if any, effect on Thomas and Martha Wayne but he couldn't really blame them considering that, before the tip, they'd been coming up dry on every lead. They'd rousted every mob bar and back room poker operation, looking for even a sliver of a clue, but all they'd gotten was some low level mob accountant who even now was screaming that he was being set up by the people who'd fingered him as the boss. He'd been riding the police force as hard as he dared without breaking them but apparently these Crimson Network people were good enough that the GCPD couldn't match them without an inside man helping them out. It frustrated him but he knew all too well the limits of the budget handed to him by city hall. Without a wealthy benefactor to deliver a boost to those funds, the best they could do was improve the men rather than the hardware they used.

"I know this might not mean much but I promise you I'll keep the GCPD side of the search going for as long as I can and I have a contact in the FBI who'll keep me apprised of their side," he said, conveying his determination through his words. "Whoever has your son has kept him alive and kept him away from the Crimson Network group. That tells me that, whatever plan that guy is following, it needs Bruce alive and in good shape. So long as we have that, I have faith that you'll see him again."

"Forgive me if I sound a little… harsh, Commissioner Loeb, but your words don't count for much at all," Missus Wayne said with anger and grief in her words. "You've had days to find my son and the only thing you have to show for it is the revelation that someone managed to slip past your pathetic check points and leave the city with him! Clearly my husband and I will have to hire more competent help! In fact, I think I'll start looking"

The mother of Bruce Wayne stormed off, clearly intent on looking up a private investigator either in the phone book or by contacting a friend who might know of someone suitable.

"While I am somewhat more understanding than my wife, Commissioner Loeb, even you must admit that the entire GCPD being manipulated by one man who then proceeds to get away doesn't paint you and your officers in the best light." Mister Wayne said, sounding like he was trying to be a little more diplomatic with him. "While I will appreciate any effort you make in recovering my son, I hope you understand that my wife and I will be seeking alternative means of bringing Bruce home."

"Understandable. Just keep in mind that not every private investigator can be trusted," he said with a nod. "Some of them are only a step or two above the scum my people haul in every other day."

"I'll keep that in mind," Mister Wayne said before glancing at his butler. "Alfred will show you back to your car. Goodnight, Commissioner."

While he had to admit that a small part of him had hoped that he'd get a more benign response from the Wayne family, he was still grateful that things hadn't turned violent with one or both of them trying to punch him. He sincerely hoped that they didn't wind up getting victimized by some of the more greedy P.I.s out there because he knew that some would milk the Wayne family dry with nothing but lies or flimsy leads while others might actually just grab a kid, spend a few grand on plastic surgery and then claim that the kid was their son. That was not to say that there weren't any genuinely good and honest private investigators available for hire but being able to spot them amidst all the con artists or scam men would be hard.

After all, it wasn't like the dirty P.I.s wrote out in their advertisements 'I will bleed you dry for every speck of cash you have and give you nothing in return'.

 _I just hope that the feds manage to do better than we did,_ he thought as he got back into his car. _God only knows what horrors Bruce Wayne is being subjected to right now. Kid's probably gonna need therapy until he's twenty thanks to all this._

 _ **David Cain's POV**_

 _FINALLY! I thought I'd never get here,_ he thought as he passed by the 'Welcome to Sunnydale' sign in his third rental car.

By now the feds had almost certainly been brought in to track him down and either today or tomorrow they would likely find the tunnel he'd used to get out of the city. While he doubted that they'd figure out his cross country route, there was a good chance they'd figure out which car he'd used to get out of Gotham, which he'd gotten rid of it at first opportunity. With the second car he allowed it to take him a little over half of the way to his ultimate destination before turning it over to the local chop shop in exchange for enough money to buy some used piece of shit that'd last long enough to do its job. Once he finished with Wilkins and made sure his employer's demands were met, he'd just hop a bus to the Los Angeles docks and hitch a ride overseas before waiting for his next job.

It didn't take him long to navigate the small town's streets until he arrived at the front gates of a pretty fancy estate complete with a mansion at its center. Pulling up so that his window would be next to the intercom, he reached out and pressed the buzzer before waiting for a response from the owner. Letting his gaze pass this way and that, he couldn't shake the feeling that things weren't quite right in Sunnydale but he wasn't afraid. There were only a few places in the whole world that made him feel like this and it was never a good thing to overstay your welcome in any of them without your own stockpile of military-grade ordinance.

"Yes?" came a rather jovial voice from the intercom's speaker.

"Mister Abel to see Mister Dick Wilkes about a package delivery," he replied before looking over his shoulder to ensure that the Wayne kid was still sound asleep. "He should be expecting me."

There was a thirty second wait, no doubt as they confirmed who he was and whether or not he really was expected, but eventually the gates opened wide, allowing him to drive up to the front door. Getting out he threw the Wayne boy over his shoulder while also picking up the little item that'd been carefully concealed at a predetermined drop point along his route. He didn't know what was inside the box but he'd been told that it was supposed to be payment for the man he was about to meet to ensure he held up his side of the bargain. Walking up to the front door, he knocked twice before waiting to be admitted and thankfully he didn't have long to wait. When the door opened he was greeted by a man in his late forties who looked like he belonged on some sixties family sitcom, especially given the smile on his face.

Personally it was his experience that men who dealt with the sort of things he did that smiled like that were either evil to the core or suffered from having more than a few screws loose. The rare time it turned out to be both, he made sure to be far away when he 'politely declined' whatever job offer they made him.

A few times he simply killed them pro bono just so they wouldn't muck up any of his future jobs with their brand of lunacy.

"Welcome to Sunnydale, Mister Cain. I must say, you made excellent time," Wilkins said with a sixties family dad tone of voice. "Your betrayal of the Crimson Network operatives in Gotham and escaping the city with the son of Thomas and Martha Wayne only just hit the national news stations."

"Interesting. I had thought that they'd keep a lid on the kid's identity for a while before making it public," he said, having factored in the response of the law and the newshounds into his efforts.

"Yes, well, it's a sad truth about people in the news business that they will never pass up a chance at higher ratings or an increase in sales. Likely someone bribed an officer working on the case," Wilkins said before stepping aside and indicating he should enter. "As such it would be best if we got down to business before any pesky witnesses are made."

Walking into the mansion, he was only peripherally aware of the door being shut behind him as he evaluated the interior of the mansion. While he didn't anticipate any trouble from Mister Happy, he hadn't survived as long as he had by letting himself get complacent and unobservant. Doors, staircases, light fixtures and other elements were taken into account before Wilkins took the lead in walking deeper into the mansion. All in all he saw many things that implied that the Mayor of Sunnydale had an impressive collection of art and antiques. A few pieces he knew could fetch quite the little profit or cost someone a considerable amount of their fortune to acquire. Still, he decided that it was none of his concern what the man had or how valuable his possessions were since he was mere moments away from fulfilling his objective.

They descended into the basement and, seeing the stonework around him, he postulated that it'd been built near the beginning of the century, if not earlier. Eventually they reached the bottom and entered a room that looked like it'd be right at home either in a horror movie or some fantasy themed comic book centered on black magic. Cauldrons, beakers full of strange substances and a lot of weird writings on the floor that he couldn't make heads or tails of.

"Now before I begin upholding my side of the bargain, I insist on confirming that you have the promised payment ready for me." Wilkins said, turning to face him.

With a bit of wariness he passed the man the box he'd picked up from the drop point while covertly putting his hand closer to his concealed semi-automatic. When the mayor of Sunnydale opened the box, an eerie red glow lit up the jovial man's face and the smile that seemed to be perpetually affixed to the man's face took on a sinister quality.

"Your employer is a man of his word, Mister Cain," Wilkins said as he closed the box in his hands, causing the glow to vanish. "I've been trying to acquire this little gem for decades without success."

"My employer knows all too well that you get what you pay for." he said, not interested in getting into a casual conversation with the man.

"Too true, and I assure you that my efforts on your employer's behalf will match the value of the payment," Wilkins said as he set aside his payment on a nearby table. "Now if you'd place the boy in the center of the circle on the floor, I can begin."

Doing as asked, he put Bruce Wayne down in the middle of the elaborately drawn circle before stepping back to stand well outside of it.

"Now, as I recall, your employer wants me to hide the Wayne boy here in Sunnydale and ensure that no one even suspects his presence, never mind putting two and two together. Not an impossible task but it will require altering his physical appearance along with his memories," Wilkins explained as he went about gathering odds and ends from around the room. "Not just his memories, though, no, but also the memories of everyone in Sunnydale in order to make them believe that the boy was born and raised in Sunnydale. My people can handle the paperwork and digital records to support the claim in the next few days. When I'm done, no one will suspect a thing."

Indeed, if Wilkins did manage to do as he claimed he could, then only a small number of people would know the truth.

 _Hmmmm… might be worth the effort to make sure that no one involved decides to reduce that number by one,_ he thought as he began to make plans to ensure his safety.

What followed as a combination of chanting, a light show and lit candles that would've cost the special effects department of a major movie studio quite a large sum of money to replicate, but the results couldn't be argued with. Right before his eyes the boy's appearance began to change in subtle ways, ranging from hairstyle to facial features to growing an extra three inches in height. It was only with a final barely perceivable pulse of energy that everything apparently reached its climax as it rippled outwards past him and beyond the borders of the estate, if his instincts were right. He didn't feel any different himself, nor did his memories concerning the boy in front of him seem to change, but then again if Wilkins had done his job right then it was to be expected. Looking at the man himself, he could see minor signs of fatigue on the mayor's face but nothing that had him expecting the magic user to collapse from exhaustion any time soon.

"Well, golly! It's certainly been awhile since I last performed a spell like that!" Wilkins exclaimed with a smile on his face. "Still it felt good to give my sorcery skills a workout."

"So it's done?" he asked in order to get confirmation of what his employer wanted.

"Yes. As far as the people of Sunnydale are concerned, the boy is no longer Bruce Wayne of Gotham City. Instead he is Alexander LaVelle Harris of Sunnydale, California." Wilkins replied as he picked up a glass filled with what looked like wine before taking a sip. "Only son of Anthony and Jessica Harris, both of whom have been lifelong residents of Sunnydale as well but who, from this day forward, will lack the means of leaving anytime soon. I'll make sure of it."

"You've been planning this for quite a while, haven't you?" he asked, satisfied with the confirmation.

"Ever since your employer asked me to perform this service for him in exchange for my payment. It takes quite a bit of work in order to make an insertion such as this truly seamless," Wilkins replied, looking like his energy had been restored somewhat by his drink. "I had to sift through countless reports of families in the right age range who were looking for a child of their own so I could make their wish come true. After all, the memory altering spell only affects those within the Sunnydale city limits, so if I put him with a family that didn't want a child their relatives outside of the town would become suspicious at the reversal of their position."

Made sense.

"And the physical alterations?" he asked, knowing his employer would want specifics. "Will they only be effective inside the city limits as well? Will he revert to his previous appearance if he ever went beyond them?"

"It is true that the natural energies of the Hellmouth and my own magical might will fuel the alterations, but even if by some random chance he did go beyond the city limits, the changes wouldn't immediately revert. The changes will linger until the enchantments run out of energy thirty hours after setting foot outside of Sunnydale," Wilkins replied as he set down his empty glass. "Plenty of time for me to dispatch a few 'employees' to find him and escort him 'home'."

"Good. Then our business is concluded," he said as he turned to leave. "My employer will, of course, appreciate it if you kept him apprised of any troubling developments or problems that could interfere with 'Alexander's' life. Even if you can resolve them yourself, he'd want to be kept in the loop."

"Of course. Safe travels, Mister Cain," Wilkins said with a nod and that same sixties father smile.

 _Definitely not returning to this town if I can help it,_ he thought as he ascended out of the basement to the ground level of the mansion. _Some people are just too creepy even for me to consider working for._

Years passed by and none suspected the truth.

Outside of Sunnydale, the Federal Bureau of Investigation continued the search for Bruce Wayne and the missing member of the group that had hijacked the Gotham City Monorail the same day it'd been opened. Word was spread from east coast to west coast amongst the law enforcement community with orders for any new information to be passed on to the agent in charge of the search. Even the media helped out where they could, asking their various sources on both sides of the law for any word on where the heir to the Wayne family fortune could be. It made for quite the impressive manhunt but, after two years, the number leads that could be followed up on began to dwindle, leaving the reexamination of the past for any clues that might've been overlooked. A year after that the case was put on the shelf to remain there until some new development jarred the agents involved into acting once more to recover young Bruce Wayne.

From Thomas and Martha Wayne's point of view, their search would never be over so long as they had the money as well as the resources to continue looking for their precious boy. Within a week they hired a retired Metropolis detective turned private investigator named William Henderson to search for their son, giving him a generous amount of money and resources to work with. They'd done their research like Commissioner Loeb had suggested and everyone they'd spoken with told them that the P.I. was good at his job and could be relied upon to give it his all, regardless of the reward. Months stretched into years but, unlike the F.B.I. the man hired by the Wayne parents never ceased working to find the boy who'd been torn from his loving family. Even when all the reliable leads dried up, the African American man spent his time debating possible strategies or tactics that the boy's kidnapper might've used to stay under the radar of the federal agencies. Anytime he thought he might've figured out how things might've gone, he went out to confirm or deny his theory by questioning the citizens that lived in the town or city along the route he'd mapped out. Throughout all this, though, he never once lied to his employers about how the investigation was proceeding and, while discouraged by the lack of progress, they appreciated this honesty nonetheless.

All the while the object of their search lived out his life as Alexander LaVelle Harris, only son of Anthony and Jessica Harris, never once thinking he'd been anyone else thanks to the spells placed on him by Richard Wilkins. Both he and the people around him lived their days firmly in the grip of the fake memories that had been placed in their minds via magic and that grip only tightened as real memories formed authentic bonds between the secret Gotham native and the people he knew. However it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows for the boy because, while Anthony and Jessica had indeed started out as loving parents, their poor luck in the area of employment took its toll on them. No one could take having the days of hard work they put in amount to nothing as they were passed over for promotion or had their pay reduced due to 'hard times'. Coupled with increased taxes and 'clerical errors', the Harris family was only barely managing to keep a roof over their heads and food in their refrigerator. Under such strain and discontent, it was understandable that they'd seek out a means to soothe their spirits but sadly they made the mistake of choosing alcohol.

While some are wise enough to drink lightly and not fall into the bottle, others choose to embrace the mind numbing effects as a form of escape from their daily troubles.

Anthony and Jessica Harris fell into the latter category, only for it to sour their temperament since their problems were always waiting for them upon returning to sobriety. As the years ticked by their foul temperament began to stretch out to affect those around them, with their son being treated especially poorly. What began as a few less than kind comments quickly evolved into abusive language as well as violence where Anthony Harris was concerned. Like any rational person who wished to avoid needless pain and suffering, whether it be physical or mental, young Alexander 'Xander' Harris began to look for any escape from his home life that he could find. Often that meant staying over at the homes of Jesse McNally or Willow Rosenberg, both his best friends, when he could but, when that wasn't possible, he simply did his best to evade his parents. It wasn't always possible and so he learned what it felt like to be beaten and then, over time, how best to take a beating without getting seriously hurt in the process. Nevertheless his file at the local hospital was thicker than most people his age but the staff merely chalked it up to the activities of a thrill seeking daredevil child who had more guts than brains.

It wasn't until the start of his second year at Sunnydale High School that things began to change in ways that few could ever have predicted.

One way in particular would have consequences that would last far beyond what anyone could have predicted thanks to a seer in the employ of the most dangerous organization on the planet.


	2. The Undermining of Plans

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the copyrighted materials contained herein. They are the rightful property of their respective creators and/or associated companies. I make no profit from this and I have no intention of changing this at any point in the future. I write because it's fun and because there are those who enjoy reading my work.

 _ **Nanda Parbat, Tibet**_

 _ **1997**_

 _ **Ra's Al Ghul's POV**_

"You wished to see me, Pythia?" he asked as he entered the room where the seer was kept.

"Indeed I did, Mister Demon! I found out something really interesting that I thought you might want to hear about," Pythia replied sounding and looking like someone half her physical age. "Especially since it could make a mess of your plans for this world."

If it'd been anyone but him hearing these words they likely would have dismissed the possibility believing that there was no way a plan of theirs could be endangered thanks to their meticulous efforts. He, however, was not just anyone and he had learned enough about the seer to know that nothing she thought important enough to talk to him about should be dismissed out of hand. If it was her position that something on the horizon was approaching that could ruin his plans for the future then he needed to know as much as he could in order to stop it or at least minimize the damage to his plans.

"What have you seen?" he asked with the utmost focus and attentiveness.

"A sleepy little town isn't going to be so sleepy in a few short years," Pythia replied with a smile on her face. "It's going to become quite loud in just two years. Rumbling, hissing, screaming and panicking! All thanks to your old friend Dick. He's got big plans. He's gonna ASCEND to become a whole different type of being! He's gonna be so different I don't even think a group of planes with machine guns are going to be able to take him down like that damn stinky monkey."

He pondered her words and tried to think of any man named 'Dick' or a variation thereof that could endanger his plans and possibly required more than planes to take down. It wasn't easy since he had done many deals with people by that name but, when he took into account a connection with a sleepy town and becoming something as big as the reference to King Kong, things came together. The transformation was obviously a reference to magic since no science currently existing to alter a life form's mass to that degree. But what could…

"No. He could not be planning THAT!" he gasped as his eyes widened with realization.

Living as long as he had, he'd learned a great many things from the sciences to the occult and he'd examined them all to see if they'd prove useful in achieving his long term goals. Some he'd adopted while others he'd had wiped from the pages of history both because they repulsed him and because they would prove to be a threat to his future plans if anyone else used them. There was one ritual, one dark ceremony, that he had personally sacrificed hundreds of men in order to ensure that no one could perform it. In magical circles it was called an Ascension and it was a century-long process through which a sufficiently powerful and talented dark magic user could transform him or herself from a human being into a True Demon. Most people thought that the demons that currently walked the Earth were the genuine article but the truth of the matter was that the inhuman creatures known to occult experts were half-breeds or less. The truth was that there hadn't been a natural True Demon on the planet in millions of years and a pseudo True Demon in centuries. From his studies he learned that there wasn't any real difference in power between a real and an artificial True Demons and that both of them could kill people by the hundreds in the space of a few hours.

If Richard Wilkins truly intended to complete the Ascension process in just two years then it would certainly impact his plans for the Earth.

"Thank you, Pythia," he said as he turned to leave. "I will make sure that your favorite meals are cooked and an excursion to the city arranged once this matter has been dealt with."

"Oh goody!" Pythia exclaimed looking quite happy about her future.

Closing and locking the door behind him, he turned to Ubu, who had waited for him outside his room.

"It would appear, old friend, that dear Richard Wilkins plans to cross the line between human and abomination. Such a thing cannot be allowed," he said with a cross look on his face, "Assemble a company of our best men and arm them for combat with both vampires as well as dangerous demon breeds. I intend to make sure that Wilkins and his subordinates learn the dangers of ambition."

"They shall be ready for departure within two hours, Master." Ubu said with a subservient bow of his head.

"Also… have a detachment of our magecraft division prepare a Seed of Yin for activation," he ordered, deciding that an example had to be made to discourage others from following in Richard's footsteps.

"A Seed of Yin, Master?" Ubu asked with a bit of surprise. "Forgive me if I speak out of place but would it not be dangerous to use such a thing atop a Hellmouth?"

"It is true that there is risk involved, my loyal servant, but I have confidence that the mages who serve me will be able to keep the worst case scenario from occurring," he replied, not offended in the least by his servant's questions.

While obedience to him had to be total, he did not want dumb subordinates for they often proved to be useless in any way other than cannon fodder. At the same time, though, smart subordinates often became ambitious to the point where they tried to take over. Therefore it was often smart to find a balance between the two or at least have the means close by to ensure the more dangerous underlings could be defanged at a moment's notice.

In this case, the members of his magecraft division were made up of promising magic users whose bloodline had served the League of Shadows for centuries. Some were even descended from the ones who'd originally helped him form the organization to begin with and so had the skill that had been built upon a foundation of generations. He was confident that they'd be able to handle any complications that might arise from the activation of a seed of yin, in particular the possible opening of the Hellmouth itself. He would ensure that the mages would have adequate protection so that they could accomplish their task without distractions and by the time they were done none would dare risk his wrath with another venture like the one Wilkins was attempting.

"I shall inform them of your wishes immediately, Master." Ubu said before walking off to fulfill his orders.

Marking a new destination in his mind, his personal armory, he began to make his way towards it, selecting in his mind what would serve him best if he was forced to fight Wilkins personally. Some of the greatest mystical minds ever produced by mankind had forged armor and weaponry for him, both enchanted to make them far superior to any commonplace counterpart.

It was as he passed by the entrance that led to the central training hall that a sight caught his attention causing him to pause to observe. Scattered about in groups were various recruits being instructed in the ways of the League but what had his attention was the trainee on the central platform squaring off against four opponents. A young woman of sixteen years, dressed in the standard training clothes for a member of the League of Shadows, and she showed no fear of her situation or her opponents. Brown hair tied securely behind her head to minimize its usefulness as a grip point for her adversaries, her movements were smooth and precise as she waited for the four to attack. When the four men did he was pleased with the skill in which the young woman handled herself not only in terms of defense but also with how she used her attacks to manipulate her foes into going where she wanted them to. Most warriors only acted or reacted, never thinking beyond the next ten seconds, however it was a core teaching of the League that they control the battle rather than just being a part of it.

With expertly placed strikes she maneuvered them into a formation on the platform and then, with a flurry of attacks, she sent them all to the ground in a groaning pile.

He couldn't help but clap with pride at victory and this noise caused all who heard it to look in his direction before dropping to one knee before their lord and master. Even the young woman who'd just defeated her four opponents knelt in his presence, with her eyes never rising from floor even partially.

"Now, now my dear! There is no need for you to kneel before me," he said as he walked towards her. "You fought well and proved your superiority before four able opponents. I could not be prouder, my dear daughter. My dear Talia."

"Thank you, father," Talia said as she rose to her feet. "All that I do I do in your name."

"You are my greatest treasure and should a male heir fail to appear in time, it shall fall to you to carry on my work." He took her hands in his own. "To strike down that which poisons this world and restore nature to its proper pristine state."

Indeed, while a part of him wished to name her his official heir now, tradition dictated that a female successor was only to be considered once a male successor proved impossible. Some would and did say that it was an antiquated tradition born from the days when women were considered little more than carriers of the next generation but he knew the truth. There were certain qualities, both physical and mental, that could only be found in the male gender and, at best, imitated by the female gender. He had no doubt that with continued training and some experience in the field that she would do him proud but he could not allow his fatherly love for her influence his judgment where a successor was concerned.

He would settle for nothing but the perfect successor to take his place as leader of the League of Shadows but, until such a man was found, he would have to rely on the restorative powers of the Lazarus Pit to maintain his life.

He only prayed that he could endure immersing himself in the liquid long enough for that successor to appear.

 _ **Watcher's Council, Main HQ, London**_

 _ **Quentin Travers' POV**_

KNOCK!KNOCK!KNOCK!

"Come in!" he said from behind his antique desk, feeling quite relieved at the temporary reprieve from the paperwork that went along with his job.

It was arguable who had it worse: him behind his desk or the field personnel handling problems all over the world.

Looking up as the door opened, he immediately upped the level of attention he was giving the current situation at the sight of a prominent member of the Council's intelligence division walking towards him. While he routinely had lesser members of that division drop off weekly reports, it never boded well for his blood pressure when a senior member showed up at his office. It almost always meant that something… troubling… was quickly approaching on the horizon or had already struck and this was an after action report.

"What brings you to my office, O'Reilly?" he asked, deciding to skip the pleasantries.

"We've just received a communiqué from our informant in the League of Shadows, Mister Travers," O'Reilly replied before putting a sheet of paper on the desk in front of him. "However, as per protocol regarding all alpha level informants, only you know the cipher needed to decode it."

The moment he heard the name 'League of Shadows' he knew his foreboding feeling was accurate because not only was the foul organization a force to be reckoned with, but only in the most dire situations would an informant risk their lives to notify the Council of their activities. Taking the sheet of paper, he picked up his best pen and began to decipher the message using a means known only to the head of the Council. It took a while since deciphering the message was by its nature complicated; in the end it took him a full ten minutes of painstaking work to finish.

When he was done though he could scarcely believe what he was reading.

"Dear lord! He's gone MAD!" he exclaimed in utter disbelief as his educated mind predicted what would happen if Ra's Al Ghul succeeded in what the informant said he planned to do.

"What is it, sir? What did the informant put in the message?" O'Reilly asked, obviously curious and worried about what could've upset his superior.

"No time to explain!" he declared as he walked around his desk heading for the door. "We need to hurry if we're to save the world!"

Leaving his office in a hurry, he quickly began to move for where the Council's spec ops division office was located while praying that lady luck would not turn her back on him along with the rest of humanity. Despite the speech all Watchers were trained to give their Slayers, potential or Called, the fate of the world depended on more than just one girl gifted with superhuman abilities. No matter how skilled the Slayer was, she was limited by the same methods of transportation and the same distances as any other mortal being. As such instead of attempting to fly the girl to every location as fast as they could, they instead sent the young woman to what their seers predicted would be a location rife with demonic and supernatural calamities for the foreseeable future. The rest was handled by their spec ops division, made up of men from all branches of the military from countries across the globe, united in their desire to combat the inhuman forces preying upon the innocent. Using weapons both traditional and modern they'd done much to keep the world spinning, even if their purely human natures often resulted in only a gifted few living long enough to collect their pension.

Nevertheless, they had never given him or any previous head of the Council reason to doubt their commitment or their skills.

It didn't take him long to reach the office and luckily an old friend was still working when he arrived.

"Grafton! What teams do we have available in the western United States?" he asked, striding quickly over to the man's desk.

"Johnson and Bradley's teams are handling that zombie mess in Arizona and I believe Ronald's team should be almost finished with those cultists in northern Oregon," Grafton replied, looking a little startled at the unexpected arrival. "Why do you ask?"

"We have a potential omega level incident brewing and I need as much manpower as you can muster in twelve hours sent to the Sunnydale Hellmouth. Ra's Al Ghul and a group of his followers are on their way there as we speak… with a Seed of Yin."

"Has he finally gone stark raving MAD!?" Grafton asked, almost unable to believe what he'd been told.

"We had better hope not, for I shudder to think what could happen with an insane Demon's Head leading the League of Shadows as opposed to a sane one." He barely restrained a full body shudder at what his imagination produced. "Make the Californian arms depot available to all of the operatives. Given the time we have we will likely be outnumbered, so all we can do is ensure we're not outgunned."

"I'll get right on it!" Grafton declared as he pulled the phone on his desk closer. "There may be a few freelance groups we can rely on that I may be able to get there."

"Good! We'll need all the help we can get," he said with a nod of approval. "Also call ahead to the airfield and get the modified Gulfstream G650 fueled and ready for takeoff within the hour. We haven't a moment to waste!"

Confident that Grafton would do his job, he left the office for the next vital part of the operation to counter the actions of Ra's Al Ghul. Walking down to the basement of the Council building, he stepped into the arcane circle in the center of the stone carved floor before speaking the incantation needed to contact the ones he sought. As the circle lit up the ghostly image of the head of the Devon Coven of witches appeared before him and, while puzzling, it was still quite welcome.

"Well this is a surprise, Quentin. Normally when you wish to speak with the Coven, you visit in person." Miss Harkness said with lightly warmed words. "I take it there is a time sensitive matter you wish to discuss with me?"

"Indeed there is. I have just learned that Ra's Al Ghul and a group of his followers are on their way to the Sunnydale Hellmouth with a Seed of Yin. While I hope that the Council forces and I will be enough to prevent it from being activated, I wish to be prepared for the worst case scenario. For that I will require the Devon Coven's assistance."

"My word! I shall gather a group of my best practitioners." Miss Harkness rightfully sounded like she would be quite busy after the discussion concluded. "I assume you'll be leaving via the usual airfield?"

"Yes. We will be leaving within the hour," he replied with a grateful smile on his face. "I suggest you bring as many tools as you are able to. There is no telling what we will face when we confront the League of Shadows."

"We will be prepared," Miss Harkness said with a nod of agreement. "See you at the airfield."

With that the mystical connection was cut and the arcane circle on the floor went dark, signifying the termination of the flow of magical energy. Going back to the staircase that would take him out of the basement, he contemplated whether it would be wise to inform Rupert and Slayer Summers of the impending threat. They were already in Sunnydale and, with some luck, could delay the League of Shadows long enough for the assets he'd gathered to get there along with himself. On the other hand, Elizabeth 'Buffy' Summers was hardly the most disciplined Slayer ever to be Called and neither did she have much experience combating ordinary humans. While the League of Shadows did employ nonhuman members, the large majority of their forces were comprised of normal albeit highly trained human beings. Both he and the faction he led had made it clear that the Slayer was forbidden from attacking or killing normal humans. Human criminals were for the human law enforcers to handle.

When confronted by forces completely human, would Summers be able to defeat them without killing them or would she be forced to use lethal force against them in order to hold the line?

There were costs and benefits on both sides of the scenario but he chose not to inform Watcher Giles and Slayer Summers of the trouble heading their way. He'd never heard of Ra's taking special interest in any one particular Slayer or the Council, so it was likely that the man's target was someone else. If that indeed turned out to be the case, then by keeping the local forces in the dark there would only be encounters of chance rather than by choice reducing the odds of Slayer Summers being forced to cross the line.

He was sick to his very bones dealing with Slayers who crossed the line.

 _ **The Bronze, Sunnydale, California**_

 _ **Xander's POV**_

… _there's got to be an easier way to pick up girls than just diving in and hoping for the best,_ he thought with a sigh as he walked away from the latest round of verbal fisticuffs with Cordelia.

He knew that everyone said that there was no surefire guide to wooing the opposite sex and that you had to try multiple avenues of approach before it all finally clicked, but it was an embarrassing as well as painful trial and error process. Still, with all the depictions of love and lust that could be found either on television or in major Hollywood movie, he couldn't quite give up on the possibility of experiencing both for himself someday. There were a few prospects at Sunnydale High School that he would consider himself lucky if he managed to get one of them interested in a relationship with him. Buffy, of course, was one of them but despite some of his wittiest lines and requests for a date she either pretended to be oblivious or acted like his requests were jokes. Did that mean he had no chance with her at all or did he just need to up his verbal game in order to make her take him seriously?

Maybe.

He'd keep trying until he got a blunt, point blank, NO from her, making it clear that she would never look at him that way. After all, as Willow could tell anyone who asked, once he set his sights on a goal it took something pretty impressive to make him give up.

"Boy, that Cordelia is a regular breath of vile air," he said after walking up to the table Willow and Buffy were at. "What are you vixens up to?"

"Just sitting here, watching our barren lives pass us by," Willow replied before spotting something on the floor next to her. "Oh, look, a cockroach."

Then, with her usual finesse, she proceeded to stomp on the cockroach since doing so would earn one of them a free drink from 'The Bronze' staff as part of their little fumigation party event. Looking at Buffy, though… definitely not motivated to use her slaying abilities for the drinking benefit of her good, dear friends. It looked more like she just wanted to sit in her chair and mope for the rest of the evening, so with that in mind he chose to fulfill his self-proclaimed duty of turning the frown upside down.

"Whoa, well, let's stop this crazy whirligig of fun!" he said with just the right level of humor. "I'm dizzy!"

Sadly this didn't have the effect he'd been hoping for.

"Alright, now I'm infecting those nearest and dear to me." Buffy said as she got up off her seat. "I'm gonna call it a night."

"Oh, don't go!" Willow said, clearly not wanting to see her newest non-male friend go home for the night.

"Uh, yeah! It's early!" he said trying to come up with something to keep her from going. "We could, um, dance!"

He knew the moment the words left his mouth that they were the wrong ones to use.

"Rain check?" Buffy asked halfheartedly and probably rhetorically. "Goodnight."

With that the blonde Slayer and his own personal hero walked towards the entrance/exit of the Bronze for home, leaving just him and Willow to enjoy the fumigation party ambiance.

"Want a free drink?" Willow asked holding up the shoe that had the dead cockroach pasted on it.

For a moment he just looked at her and then scraped off the squished bug into his hand before heading over to the bar to get something to drink. There was no point in bringing more gloom upon his best bud by refusing her offer and the two of them could still have fun, theoretically speaking, without Buffy being with them. They'd done it before, granted they'd had Jesse to meet their trio quota then, and they could do it again just fine.

That is so long as Cordy and her minions didn't decide to coast on by for a little drive-by-put-down to amuse themselves.

For the next two hours he and Willow did their best to enjoy themselves without attracting the attention of the social elite of Sunnydale High but eventually even their optimism had to take a nap. Patting his pockets to be sure he had a cross, a wooden stake and a small bottle of holy water with him, he left with his best bud to escort her home before going to the pig pen he called home. Sure, if a vampire or demon showed up they'd likely choose the saner route and just start running for the nearest occupied building they could get into or whoever's home was closest but it was good to have backup. Walking along, he had to marvel at how much his life had changed since meeting Buffy and learning the truth about the world. Before Buffy he knew his town was a little off but he'd just brushed it off as a quirk that probably could be found in at least a hundred other small towns. Now he knew that Sunnydale sat atop a literal mouth to hell and that the place was suffering from a serious demon infestation that made tons of cemeteries and lots of churches mandatory. He wondered if he'd have survived long enough to put the clues together and figure out the truth on his own.

Probably not.

Knowing his luck, he'd probably have wound up some vampire's whipping boy or late night snack.

 _Makes me wish that Uncle Ted hadn't gotten so disgusted with Tony and Jessica's drinking that he took off before teaching me more than the basics of boxing,_ he thought as he remembered his mother's brother. _Not exactly enough to make me risk going a couple of rounds with a vamp._

He still practiced what he'd been taught whenever he felt particularly determined to be better than his drunken deadbeat of a father but, considering he could go through the entire set of memories in less than an hour, he'd probably get laughed at if he tried to step into a boxing ring with someone. He'd actually looked about town after his boxing uncle had left to see if there was anyplace he could learn more but for some reason most self-defense teaching businesses never lasted long in Sunnydale. They'd start up, get a decent sized assortment of people wanting to learn, and then in a couple of months shut down, leaving an empty building behind. Most of the rumors he'd heard said that it was kinda hard to teach when either your sensei was missing or your students suffered a rash of 'barbecue fork accidents'. Then there was the fact that his memory had never been the greatest even though he managed well enough in Willow's advanced classes to not be tossed back into the average classes with most of the student body. A bad memory meant that even if he thought that he was doing an exercise or a punch combo right, it was a distinct possibility that he was doing something wrong.

 _Uncle Ted would probably shake his head in disappointment if he saw me practicing now._

A flicker of movement caught his eye but when he looked to see what the source was he began to wonder if the owner of the Bronze had spilled a little bug killer into his drink because he was seeing what looked to be ninjas hopping across rooftops. Some were traditional ninjas, with ninja-to and other melee weaponry, but others were armed with guns but he couldn't make out the type what with it being so dark outside. Still, it wasn't something you saw in Sunnydale even with all the weirdness that he'd encountered since he met Buffy.

Looking to Willow, he could tell she'd spotted the ninjas as well. "Cosplayers who take things a little too seriously?"

"I don't think so," Willow replied, looking distinctly worried. "We need to tell Giles."

A part of him agreed but at the same time he was uncertain about going to the Watcher with so little to work with research-wise. All they knew was a group of people dressed up like ninjas were roof hopping their way across Sunnydale. Unless there was only one group in the entire world that matched that description, it could take them forever to figure out what was going on.

Still, it was better to get the research started now and add new information as it became available to them then to wait too long.

"Let's go," he said before they changed course for the high school library where G-Man would almost certainly be working at this hour.

Personally he hoped it all turned out to be nothing because, if what he'd seen of the weapons cage was anything to go by, Buffy had never trained to fight against someone wielding guns. If she wound up being forced into such a fight, he didn't like her odds of winning even with a decent plan for supporting her.

No, he didn't like the scenarios his mind came up with at all.

 _ **An Abandoned Building, Sunnydale**_

 _ **Ra's Al Ghul's POV**_

"Are you ready to begin?" he asked the leader of the group in charge of activating the seed of yin.

"Yes, great Master. However for the duration of the activation neither I nor my brethren will be able to do anything should we come under attack," the Mage Leader replied, not sounding afraid but rather pointing out a potential weakness.

"That will not be a problem," he said, not worried in the least. "I have stationed my deadliest and most skilled warriors around the perimeter of the building with their leader close by should anyone succeed in getting inside. Focus on your task and all shall be well."

"By your command, Master," the Mage Leader said with a bow before walking away to join his subordinates in the fulfillment of their orders.

Turning towards the building's nearest exit, he was unsurprised to see Ubu had already returned from the tasks set to him since their arrival at a secluded airstrip. This latest in an honored bloodline that had served him well for hundreds of years and only with a few rare exceptions had they failed to meet his expectations.

The examples made after those failures had done wonders in keeping them from happening in future generations.

"Status?" he asked as the two of them left the building.

"The field teams are striking at the various places of power in Sunnydale, starting with Wilkins' supporters before moving to the mayor's personal assets." Ubu reported, opening the back door of the limo for him. "It shouldn't be long before your enemy begins to rally what forces he can to oppose us but they will be minimal."

"Excellent. And the 'lines' for the players on our side?" he asked in order to determine if the desired clues were being left behind.

"They will be spoken at the appropriate time, just as you instructed," Ubu replied before closing the back door and moving to take up his position as driver.

"Good."

Indeed it was part of his stratagem to have his operatives say specific sentences at specific times so that they would make their way back to Wilkins. Those sentences would be clues intended to make his foe draw a specific end conclusion: that the League Of Shadows intended to take over the Hellmouth and use its power for one of his 'schemes'. Naturally he had no intention of doing such a thing but it would explain what his forces were doing at the moment as well as what they'd be doing for the next few days. Of course Wilkins would be surprised but not unwilling to accept the ruse as truth since he had little doubt that there had been numerous attempts in the past to wrest control of Sunnydale from the warlock in the past. He'd already made sure to move the necessary assets to support the idea of him preparing for a major operation but thankfully he would not have to take the next logical step in such a takeover bid for at least a week.

By that time it would all be over with.

He himself would need to put in the prerequisite appearances in order to make the ploy truly convincing and it was to be the first of four appearances he would make. He had his own lines to speak, after all, in order to properly convince Wilkins after all and, while still young by his standards, the mayor was old enough to spot a ruse when the lead performer failed to make an appearance. He would need to take extra precautions during the times when he was out in the open since those would be the best times for Wilkins to have him assassinated.

The old adage 'cut off the head and the body dies' applied to him and the League just as much as it did anyone else, even if death wasn't quite as permanent for him as it was for others.

While he had devoted a sizeable amount of his elite forces to guarding the mages, he still had sufficient numbers surrounding him at all times to ensure that even Wilkins would be lucky to succeed in his attempt to end matters swiftly. Besides that, his actions had been swift and sudden enough that Wilkins would need a day or two before he could gather what he needed to perform a spell, curse or ritual. Until then all that the man would have at his disposal would be the various vampires and demons that inhabited Sunnydale, all of which he'd anticipated when arming his soldiers. While physically impressive, most of the combat capable nonhumans of Sunnydale possessed all the skill of barroom brawler. Oh, there were a few who had received some instruction in hand-to-hand combat but none trained to the level of his soldiers.

Add everything up and the odds of his plan failing were minimal and, once it was all over with, all who knew of the dark side of the world would realize the cost of threatening his work.

All who knew of demons, magic and the paranormal would know to fear Ra's Al Ghul.

 _ **Sunnydale High School Library, Giles' POV**_

"And you say they were dressed as ninjas?" he asked as he listened to the young man before him describe what he'd seen a little over an hour prior.

"Yep! At least fifteen of them," Xander replied from his seat in the library. "But they had guns along with all the swords and spears and stuff."

"Do you have any idea who they were, Giles?" Willow asked, looking rather worried about the new arrivals.

Frankly he couldn't blame her because, while American youths tended to group any warrior clad in black and wielding melee weaponry into the ninja category, people with the ability to hop rooftops did imply a level of skill that did not bode well for those on the receiving end. If the newcomers were indeed members of a group or organization possessing some skill, then that would certainly narrow down the possibilities. The number of armed groups that clad themselves in black and availed themselves of both primitive weapons as well as modern firearms also narrowed things down a bit.

"Sadly, no. Without some sort of distinctive trait to work with, the people you saw could belong to any one of a number of groups. Still, until we know more, it would be best if you stayed indoors after dark. Do you know where Buffy is right now?"

"She said she was calling it a night," Xander replied after sharing a glance with Willow.

"Good. With any luck she is already home," he said, relieved at the news. "As 'ninjas' are nocturnal operators, she should be safe enough indoors until sunrise and after that she will come to school, where I can more fully brief her on the situation. I suggest that the two of you go home as well, as swiftly as you are able to, lest you get caught up in something problematic."

"He can stay at my place for the night. It's closer and my parents aren't home," Willow said, suggesting a possible course of action. "They're away for a seminar."

"Good. I shall do what research I can and contact a few sources who have reason to keep track of all armed groups worldwide," he said, not being overly optimistic of his chances. "Hopefully I can at least learn the group's identity by the time that school starts."

"Good luck G-Man," Xander said as he and Willow turned to leave the library. "Don't work too hard. Maybe we'll get lucky and we won't have to deal with them at all."

"Let us hope that you're right, Xander," he said as the doors swung shot. "For we will need more than luck if we are one of their intended targets."

For the next two hours straight he poured over every book he had that contained information on warrior groups or organizations with more emphasis towards the human dominated ones than the demon centered ones. Despite it being over a century since firearms replaced bladed weaponry in the arsenals of armies all over the world, demons still refused to make use of them. It was a matter of honor to some while to others using claws and teeth made the act of killing that much more enjoyable. He quickly eliminated the Order of Taraka off the list since they never sent more than three killers for any job, so unless there existed multiple targets spread out across Sunnydale it wasn't them. He considered a few other organizations but most of them tended to stick to the strictly non-paranormal areas of the world for the simple reason that they didn't have the skill or the strength to handle demons and vampires. Over and over again he went through the information he had available until he was left with one possibility but, every time his logical mind tried to drive him towards it, the rest of him bailed out and ran the other way.

The League of Shadows.

A secretive order of assassins whose ultimate goal is to exterminate the injustices of the world and establish a level of environmental harmony with nature that by necessity required the extermination of a good many human beings. The organization's name was more than just for show because their operatives were almost never seen before they chose to strike at their assigned target and even then it was usually done on purpose to let everyone know who'd done the deed. He'd heard stories of a few times in which a Council black ops team had clashed to operatives from the League… survival was considered a miracle and those that did were removed from field duty immediately after recovery. If the black-clad operatives were members of the League of Shadows then the most dangerous order of human assassins on the planet had come to Sunnydale.

Assassins that he feared were too well armed and too numerous for Buffy to handle on her own.

He had done his best to prepare her, to teach her what he knew of combat, but due to the rarity of demons wielding guns he hadn't taught her anything about how to counter firearms. At best she might know to hide behind the nearest solid object she could like a car or a particularly thick headstone, but those were delaying actions at best if the League came after her.

 _What can I do?_ he thought with dismay at the scenario that was becoming more and more likely.

The only thing he could think of was to keep Buffy off the streets until they got confirmation that the League's warriors had left for some other location.

"I see that you know they're here, Rupert." Came a voice from the doors to the library.

He turned his head to see who it was and he was shocked to see none other than the head of the Watcher's Council Quentin Travers with two of his immediate subordinates standing beside him.

"Dear lord! Quentin?" he asked, voicing his surprise at the new arrivals.

"Yes, old chum," Quentin said with a slight smile. "I'm afraid things have become quite dire and we will need the assistance of you and your Slayer if catastrophe is to be averted."

"What do you mean?" he asked, knowing that the presence of the League was dire but hardly at the level of catastrophic.

What followed was an explanation that had him wondering if the world hadn't suddenly turned upside down but it did indeed imply catastrophic consequences if things took a turn for the worse. Without hesitation he promised to do whatever he could to aid the Council in its efforts to stop the madman leading the League of Shadows from unleashing the end of the world.

He just hoped that they were not already too late.

 _ **Town Hall, Sunnydale, Mayor's Office**_

 _ **Richard Wilkins' POV**_

"Well now! Isn't this a rather unpleasant turn of events!" he said with a smile on his face that was both jovial yet menacing at the same time. "How much have we lost so far?"

"Many of the Order of Aurelius have been slain. Absalom and Darla being the most notable members dusted," Allan Finch replied, looking at the report in his hand. "Sadly due to the 'bubble' he was trapped in, The Master was also slain, his bones utterly destroyed by means of explosives. Several local demon crime bosses who served you have also been slain, with varying degrees of their minions perishing along with them. Those of a demonic or paranormal persuasion who might have been useful in countering the League of Shadows have either gone into the network of tunnels beneath the town or have left Sunnydale entirely."

"That is most unfortunate. Fortunately there are those residents of our fair town that are under certain 'contractual obligations' to me who cannot abandon their posts," he said even though it was not enough to dispel the menacing qualities of his voice. "Still, with such losses it will take more than the 'loyal' subordinates I have left to repel dear Ra's and his followers. Fortunately I have just the spell in mind to chastise the old man with and my remaining 'employees' will buy me just enough time to cast it. Send an emissary to chief of the Fyaarl tribe and tell him that if he and his kin successfully defeat the League, I will consider their blood debt paid in full."

"Yes, sir," Finch said, writing down the order on his notepad.

"Also activate the secondary programming we had inserted into 'Ted's' robotic brain. I think it's time we provided him with an outlet for his homicidal tendencies," he added, remembering the brilliant scientist that'd tried to attain a measure of immortality by placing his mind in a robot body, "Machinda also has a stake in making sure that the status quo is maintained and I remain in charge of Sunnydale, so be sure to call up Delta Zeta Kappa to pass on my request. Der Kindestod might also be worth a try, considering how I've facilitated his eating habits over the last few years and an enemy the League can't see could trim their numbers significantly."

For the next several minutes he rattled off a few more of the impressive residents he knew hadn't left town either out of obligation to him or because they had their own agendas that required stable management of Sunnydale. It was a respectable force but, in all honesty, he didn't expect them to do more than distract Ra's Al Ghul's forces long enough for him to bring his formidable magical might to bear on the whole lot of them. He hadn't ruled the Hellmouth for over a hundred years without repelling a few challengers to his position and each conflict had allowed him to further refine his defenses to the point where only the likes of Wolfram & Hart could successfully defeat him.

A good thing he'd successfully tricked them into an unholy contract that prevented them from making it past the city limits without his expressed approval.

Oh, they had sent a negotiator every ten years since then to try and 'adjust' the arrangement to allow them more leeway in matters pertaining to the Hellmouth but he'd fended off their efforts well enough. When he successfully repelled the League of Shadows, no one would think to try anything in his little fiefdom without his expressed permission and those thinking of challenging him would have to think again. Indeed they had quite the reputation and to successfully rout an effort like this would make it clear who the dominant force on the Hellmouth was.

It would be smooth sailing all the way to the big moment when he left his human form behind and ascended into a state that no mortal force could hope to oppose.

Not even the senior partners at Wolfram & Hart.

Still, there was something to be said about not counting all your chickens before they hatched so it'd be unwise to allow himself to be overly confident.

 _Hmmmm… perhaps there is something I can do to tilt matters even further in my direction._

"Do we have any idea where they'll attack next? What part of Sunnydale they're based out of?" he asked Allen before the young man could leave.

"We have a few possibilities, sir," Finch replied after skimming through the report quickly.

"Then see to it that the information finds its way to people Miss Summers or her Watcher might question about our new tourists," he ordered with a genuine smile on his face. "If we can manipulate her and her little group into unintentionally aiding us, I should have all the time we need to hand them their special 'eviction notices'."

"It'll all be done inside of an hour, sir," Finch said putting his notepad away.

"Glad to hear it, Allen!" he said with genuine approval.

Indeed while not quite the go-getter his father was, the young man leaving his office had proven his competency in accomplishing the tasks laid out for him with admirable speed.

 _Perhaps once I've completed my Ascension I'll give the young man a mansion of his own,_ he thought as he considered the future. _Maybe give him a harem, too, if any of the surviving ladies of my Ascension are pretty enough. It'd be a real hoot if one of them turned out to be that Chase girl. She'd finally get her wish of marrying into power and wealth. Assuming she proves smart enough to learn that obedience is life._

Indeed, while he was capable of a great many things, one of the points he was proud of was that he always rewarded those who served him well. While to the common observer Allen Finch's contract with the city was fairly standard, he'd taken a trick or three from the lawyers in Los Angeles by hiding the fine print in the dots of the Is. One of those dots contained fine print that stated that the deputy mayor would live like a feudal lord and what feudal lord did not have his own bordello of beauties to satisfy his carnal desires? Of course Allen would still have to answer to him and any provocative behavior would be punished accordingly but he didn't see the young man having the backbone for such a thing. It was present in every tell, in every bit of body language, that the man was repulsed by some of the activities he'd witnessed and only obeyed out of fear rather than desire.

In any event, he was sure that once the young man sampled enough 'fine meat', what little soul-derived morality would wither and die, leaving a much more flexible subordinate.

If Allen failed to show the desired 'enthusiasm' after a month or three… there were ways to give his baser desires the necessary boost with or without the young man's knowledge.

 _ **Hallways of Sunnydale High School**_

 _ **Buffy's POV**_

"So what do you think is going on?" Willow asked as the three of them made their way to the school library.

"I dunno, Willow, but I doubt it's gonna be a barrel of laughs," Xander replied, walking alongside her, sounding less than enthusiastic about the future. "Facing off against a small army, half of which have guns, is not my idea of a good time."

"Me neither," she said, having spent most of the night thinking about what Giles had told her. "But I'm sure Giles'll have a plan. He always does."

Turning the corner she was a little surprised to see a 'Library CLOSED for filing. Please come back tomorrow' sign in front of the library doors. Still, she supposed that her Watcher was expecting them and so made sure that they'd have the place to themselves so no one not in the know could walk in on them. Stepping around the sign, she pushed the doors open only to receive a second, more potent surprise in the form of three people being inside along with Giles. Two of them wore tweed like her Watcher, making her think that maybe they were members of the Council as well, while the third was a woman whose outfit was at least fifty years out of date. In fact, with a few more goth touches, it'd make for a pretty decent Halloween witch costume but somehow she didn't think that was the case here. All present turned to look at her and the others once the sound of the door opening but, like always, she felt the desire to be the first to speak.

"What's going on, Giles?" she asked casually, as though there was nothing odd going on in front of her. "Unscheduled tea time?"

"Hardly, Buffy," Giles replied with a roll of his eyes. "Allow me to introduce Quentin Travers, head of the Watcher's Council, and his allies Roger Wyndam-Pryce and Miss Harkness of the Devon Coven. They have informed me that things are a great deal more serious than I had originally thought."

"What do you mean?" she asked, not liking the fact that the top dog of the Council was here with two other VIPs with news that things were worse than a group of assassins being in town.

"Rupert, allow me to explain," Quentin replied with a look at Giles. "Your Watcher has already informed you that a group of assassins has arrived in Sunnydale. What he did not tell you because he did not know is that they are all part of a group known as the League of Shadows. They are an elite organization of assassins that rival the older Order of Taraka, even if they are only a quarter the age. While they can be hired to kill specific targets, they primarily choose for themselves who their blades will cut with most of those people being deemed by the League as cancerous to humanity and the planet."

"Cancerous to the planet?" Willow asked, sounding less than thrilled by the phrase.

"Yes. It is the position of the League's ruler, Ra's Al Ghul, that the human race has become a destructive force towards the planet." He looked displeased with Willow's presence. "We consume, we pollute and we commit horrible acts on one another. In his opinion the world needs to be returned to a state where there was a natural equilibrium between man and nature. It is an end that he will resort to almost any means in order to achieve, regardless of the cost to human lives."

"You're making him sound like some kind of comic book super villain," Xander said, sounding like he couldn't quite bring himself to believe what he was hearing.

"I suppose I do at that, young man," Quentin said with a bit of a smile on his face. "However the consequences of his actions will be all too real and potentially global in nature should we fail to stop him."

"Yes. Ra's has brought to Sunnydale an arcane item called a Seed of Yin. It was devised by a fanatic demon hunter in Asia who desired nothing more than the complete obliteration of everything demonic from the surface of the Earth. It took him most of his life in order to perfect his creation but, when it was done, the effects… were most potent." Roger said, sounding seriously spooked just talking about the seed thing.

"Well isn't that a good thing?" Xander asked, sounding uneasy but in favor of the seed's effects. "I mean, that's what the Council and the Slayer are all about, right? Getting rid of every demon?"

"Not quite, young man," Quentin replied with a shake of his head. "The Council and the Slayer are only meant to oppose those demon species that prove themselves harmful or hostile to mankind, as well as any dark magic users. While not common, there are demon breeds which stand neutral in the conflict between good and evil while others prove to be valued allies. Then there are those who possess demon blood in their veins due to an ancient ancestor falling in love with one. The ones that fit that category live lives no different from you and have no desire to do anything else."

"However the Seed of Yin does not discriminate. Anything with even a speck of demonic energy is affected once the Seed has been activated and is subsequently violently destroyed. The greater the concentration of demonic energy, the more violent the reaction to the energy the Seed emits. It is even possible that it might affect those with the potential or active ability to perform sorcery. The only thing in our favor is that the inventor intended to mass produce his creation and scatter them across his country to be activated simultaneously. Individually each Seed has a range of only a few miles but multiple Seeds activated at the same time and in a specific configuration across the desired area would have a magnified effect."

"But if he's planning on using it here then-!?" Willow exclaimed as her intellectual mind connected the dots. "Oh my god! The Hellmouth!"

"We gotta figure out where this thing is and stop them! Quick!" Xander said going decidedly pale at the picture being drawn.

"Indeed. However it will not be quite as straightforward as we would like," Giles said, taking off his glasses to clean them a bit. "For reasons that are unclear, the League of Shadows have launched numerous strikes against local demons and vampires in positions of authority in and around Sunnydale. As a result the level of agitation has gone up quite a bit and will likely cause the local nonhuman population to be extra quick to attack suspicious characters. Searching for the Seed's location will be hard enough by itself but dealing with whatever rattled demon we happen to encounter will only make matters worse."

"Great! Any GOOD news?" she asked with a bit of exasperation in her voice.

"A little bit, young lady," Quentin replied with a measured positive tone. "After consulting with various sources of information, we have managed to narrow down the potential location of the seed to the northwest corner of Sunnydale. I've already dispatched two of the Council teams to search the area. Once we have uncovered satisfactory proof that we have found the place we're looking for, we can strategize an effective assault plan and end this crisis."

Normally she'd have pressed for them to dive right in the second they'd narrowed down the list of possibilities to three or four but, unlike how her make it up as she went along tendencies usually went, this time she kept quiet. She trusted her friends and her Watcher. If they said that the Shadow guys used guns, she was going to do her best to look before she leapt since she had no desire to get turned into Swiss cheese.

She'd wait for Giles to come up with a plan with his Brit buddies.

"So what do you want me to do?" she asked, not wanting to sit idle until the plan was formulated.

"During the day? Nothing. However when the sun goes down I want you to patrol the streets," Quentin replied taking charge as head of the Watchers Council. "Agitated demons are not going to leave the citizens of Sunnydale alone just because they are not a threat. They'll be more prone to attacking innocent people than usual. It will be up to you to do what you can to keep the body count as low as possible. Arm yourself accordingly."

"Damage control duty. Gotcha," she said with a nod of understanding and agreement. "Who knows? Maybe I'll get a line on where these Shadow guys have their seed of tin hidden."

RRRIIIINNNNGGG!

"Time for classes, guys," she said turning around to leave the library. "I'll check in before heading out on patrol Giles! See ya!"

With that the three of them left for their next class, one they shared, that turned out to be Biology.

Not her favorite but then again she didn't have the addiction to knowledge that Willow did.

Still she was managing to get a passing grade in it so far so maybe she wouldn't have to worry about showing her next report card to her mother quite so much.

Then again this was the Hellmouth, so she should probably arrange for an extra cram session with Willow once the whole Shadow thing was over with.

Yeah.

Definitely a good idea.

 _ **Sunnydale High School Library**_

 _ **Quentin Travers' POV**_

"Nothing like a Council trained Slayer is she?" Robert asked, looking at the doors that had just finished swishing shut after the exit of Miss Summers.

"No, but better than I had feared given that she is an American," he replied, still feeling somewhat wary of the blonde Slayer. "I half expected her to charge headfirst to the northwest, knocking down random doors and giving whatever she found within a good thrashing."

Still, he could tell with a look that the girl had not completely embraced her Calling as the Slayer. Much like he had read in the last year and a half of reports submitted by the girl's first Watcher and Mister Giles, the girl seemed to be obsessed with treating her duty as a 'hobby' or a burden. While he could not dispute the latter was sometimes the case on the matter, of the former he could not approve of such an informal grasp of her duty. The lives of hundreds, of MILLIONS, rested on the choices she made and the actions she took! At times the fate of the very planet itself was decided by how she chose to handle a specific situation. With such grave stakes it was essential that a Slayer devote all due time and effort to combatting the unnatural threats that would tear mankind to pieces at the first opportunity. Contrary to what the newly informed thought, the Council did not oppose the Slayer exercising some right to a life but their primary duty had to be to those under her protection. If a supernatural or demonic dilemma required that she put her social life on hold until it was successfully resolved then that was what the Slayer had to do.

That was something Elizabeth 'Buffy' Summers did not seem to be prepared to do based on what he'd seen thus far.

"While I will admit that Buffy can be a tad… impulsive… at times, she does know better than to tackle a superior force unprepared." Rupert said, putting in his own two cents on the matter. "If this had turned out to be a small group of demons or vampires then perhaps she would choose to dive in headfirst rather than formulate a plan beforehand. Personally I believe this to be because she has yet to face an opponent that has truly pushed her to her limits. Much like how it is difficult to convince a boxer to train when he has never lost a match."

"Perhaps, but that is even more of a reason for you to stress training with her whenever you are together." Robert said, only budging a bit from his previous stance. "A Slayer must win every time. The things she faces need only claim victory once to bring hell to our world. It may seem harsh in the beginning but she will be grateful when your diligent training saves her life one night or another."

"I shall take your words under advisement, Robert," Rupert said with a mostly agreeing nod. "Now I had best remove the sign outside before someone gets suspicious."

"Did you not say in your last report that the locals were oblivious to the supernatural goings-on of Sunnydale?" he asked out of curiosity more than anything else.

"They do, mostly, but that will not keep the idly curious from peeking through windows and noticing your decidedly foreign choice of clothing," Rupert replied in a matter of fact tone of voice. "Inviting further scrutiny to the library will only hinder future efforts to keep the demonic population under relative control."

"I suppose you are right," he said, nodding in reluctant agreement. "We will return to the apartment we have set up as our temporary base of operations and see if there have been any positive developments with the block ops teams."

"Likewise I shall keep you apprised should any of the local sources I have contact me with promising information," Rupert said, sounding like the dutiful Watcher.

While the man was proving to be somewhat more accommodating with Miss Summers than he would have been had their positions been reversed, the son of Laurence Giles was still British in his heart. His time with the colonials hadn't robbed him of his intellect and common sense thus far. As such he was willing to abide by the man's directions for the time being since there little more to be done until they gained further information on Ra's and his League of Shadows. With a look at Robert and Miss Harkness he led their group out of the library then out of the high school itself. Getting into the rental car they'd acquired, he mentally counted down the seconds until the inevitable statement he knew Robert was going to make.

"I give that girl two minutes after the Cruciamentum begins before the vampire kills her," Robert said in a way that made it clear he did not have a high opinion of the girl.

"Can we PLEASE not speak of that barbaric practice?!" Miss Harkness asked, sounding repulsed by the topic. "As it stands the Coven and I can barely condone its use. I would much rather not have to think about it minutes after meeting the girl."

"Shy away from it all you wish, Miss Harkness, but it is a necessary practice," Robert said most passionately. "You, like the senior members of the Watchers Council, know what will happen if we abandon the practice. Chaos! Death! Perhaps even the turning of all the world governments against the supernatural including both our groups! If a few deaths can prevent that from happening, then so be it."

"Please keep in mind, Robert, that the Cruciamentum was devised not just to prevent the worst case scenario from occurring but also help prove who amongst the Called can be trusted to stay the course," he pointed out so that the other side of the coin could be heard from. "While it is regrettable that only a select few among the Called have proven successful in passing the test, we must never forget those that have. They prove that it is not impossible for them to overcome the taint. It is merely… incredibly difficult."

Indeed he had personal experience with how dark a Slayer could turn once they passed eighteen years of age. It had been when he was but a young lad when the Slayer of the time, one who had passed her test, had gone rogue, striking out at both Watchers and civilians alike. Eventually the girl had found her way to the Travers estate in a near ranting state, blaming his family for stealing away her life and her freedom. Naturally his father had attempted to reason with the young woman, to explain that her sacrifice was a necessary one for the sake of the world, but the rogue Slayer would hear none of it. Both his mother and his father had done their best to use their training as Watchers to fend off the young woman while defending him as well but one ill-timed moment of empathy on his father's part had been all the girl had needed to seize him as a hostage. He remembered being so petrified of the blade at his throat even as his mother had repeatedly told him that everything would be okay, but time would prove her a liar.

Robert's father, who'd been in another area of the mansion during the attack, had chosen that moment to strike from the second level of the mansion and at first it'd been successful. A well placed arrow to the arm that'd held the blade caused it to be dropped to the ground while a second arrow caused the arm holding him to go limp. He'd scrambled away from his former captor as quickly as his little feet could go but sadly he'd only managed to get a little over a dozen feet away before a sharp pain had blossomed in his chest. He couldn't remember if he'd consciously looked down at the center of the pain or if he'd done it reflexively but the end result had been the same.

He'd seen a blood-coated blade sticking out of his chest moments before he'd collapsed to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

He had no clear recollection of what'd happened next but he'd awoken days later to the most terribly touching of news.

His mother was dead.

She'd sacrificed her own life, her very soul, to execute a spell of healing that was capable of restoring someone to full health no matter the wound or the sickness. The price for such a wonderfully useful spell: the soul of the caster. It didn't simply extract the soul or imprison it someplace like most other spells but rather it used the soul as the catalyst for the miraculous healing process. By the time it was done the soul would be completely gone leaving nothing to ascend into heaven or descend into hell or even reincarnate if you believed in such things. It truly was the ultimate sacrifice.

It was that one event more than anything that made him so supportive and so strict when it came to the Cruciamentum: to prevent another tragic loss from happening to someone else.

In the past thirty years he'd had to watch over more than thirteen Slayers going through the test and, of those thirteen Slayers, only four ever passed the test.

And of those four… two needed to be put down when their best proved not to be enough to keep the taint at bay.

 _Curse mankind for its weakness, curse mankind for its reliance on the sacrifice of innocent young women and curse me for being their secret executioner more often than not,_ he thought as he momentarily allowed his fatigue to show on his face before re-establishing his aura of strength.

He was Quentin Travers, leader of the Watchers Council. He could not afford to look weak in anyone's eyes whether they be ally or enemy.

For death always followed weakness.

 _ **Ra's Al Ghul's POV**_

"Master, I have news," Ubu said, coming to a stop short of the table.

"What news would that be?" he asked, only mildly curious since he expected what he would be told would merely confirm his expectations. "Has Wilkins managed to recruit another creature to the fight?"

"No, master. It's the Watchers Council. Your scouts have already begun to report seeing their black ops teams carrying out a search of the northwestern corner of Sunnydale."

It surprised him that the self-proclaimed guardians of the demon killing girl known as the Slayer had chosen the precise corner of the town that he and his subordinates were operating out of but then the truth came to him.

"Well played, Richard. Very well played indeed," he said with a small grin on his face at the turn of events.

"Master?" Ubu asked, having not quite connected the dots.

"Mayor Wilkins leaked the information of our most likely location to the Watchers Council in the hopes that they would succeed in defeating us or reduce our numbers enough so that his monsters could finish the job," he replied pressing his fingertips together. "A cunning idea."

"But how did the Watchers Council even know we were here?" Ubu asked, sounding less confused but still inquisitive. "We departed for this town only a little over a day ago."

"We had a spy in our midst who was under orders to only break their cover under the direst of circumstances. I imagine they thought using the Seed of Yin atop a Hellmouth qualified." He never lost his small grin. "I allowed the spy to report back and, once the connection was terminated, so too was the spy. I had hoped to use the Council to my advantage but Richard managed to do it first."

"What shall we do about them, Master?" Ubu asked, no longer confused but rather ready to receive orders and carry them out.

That was the question, wasn't it, but he had to think a few minutes in order to discern the best course of action.

"Eliminate them. ALL of them," he ordered, deciding to err on the side of caution rather than risk unnecessary complications. "So far all they have is a general area to search but, unlike Richard, they know the truth about my plan. If we allow them to gain a more precise grasp of the seed's location, it's possible they might devise a way to minimize its effect and that would ruin the point I am trying to make."

"It shall be done, Master," Ubu declared before leaving the room to carry out the order.

Some might think that eliminating so many Council members was lighting the fuse on a conflict that could cost him dearly but he wasn't worried. During all the times that his organization and the Watchers Council had clashed, they had never once come out the better for the confrontation, so at best they might attempt to interfere with a few of his future ventures. He would just plan accordingly for their interference and still achieve what he set out to do despite their best efforts. All that mattered at the moment was the successful activation of the Seed of Yin that, according to his calculations, would occur around nine in the evening. He, of course, would make sure to be well outside the city limits when the seed did its work, leaving only his loyal mages to die in the resulting cataclysm. They, of course, were all too willing to die for him, for their glorious cause, so he had nothing to fear with regards to them dutifully completing their task to the very end.

 _Mere hours to go before all who know the true Sunnydale realize the power of my League._ He took a sip of his tea. _Never again will they attempt a venture which would endanger mine._

He wondered for a moment whether he should visit Richard or call him before he left for the outer edge of Sunnydale, if only to reveal the truth at the last possible moment. True, it was rubbing salt in the wound and, strictly speaking, wasn't necessary, but it was perhaps the least he could do for a fellow man of ambition.

Though he very much doubted Richard would appreciate the courtesy from whatever circle of hell he wound up roasting in.

 _ **Sunnydale High School Library**_

 _ **Xander's POV**_

"This sucks," he said as he continued to look through books containing information on 'the seed of yen' that had the Men In Tweed so worried.

"Care to be more specific, Mister Harris?" Miss Harkness from her chair where she too was looking through some books for the desired information.

"Call me Xander. Whenever someone says 'Mister Harris' I look for my dad," he replied, trying to stay polite with the woman. "And what sucks is us bunkering down here while Buffy's out there being a prime dog pile target for both sides. Someone should be with her backing her up!"

"While it is a commendable sentiment, young man, you need to take a more realistic view of the situation," she said, sounding like some of the more concerned teachers he'd sat in front of in class. "On the one side you have some of the deadliest assassins the world has ever known looking to kill every demon with power in the city as a smokescreen for their true intentions. On the other you have demons that have ruled over Sunnydale since it was founded and perhaps beforehand who won't be too pleased at a human organization attacking them. What precisely do you think YOU could do against such foes?"

"I…I…I could be a lookout!" he said, finding himself discouragingly short on answers. "Spot incoming baddies if Buffy's too distracted kicking the asses of the guys right in front of her!"

"Not a terrible answer but you do realize that lookouts are often the first to get an arrow to the throat when an enemy wants to catch a target unawares, don't you?" she asked rhetorically, shooting down his idea.

Nuts! He should've thought of that.

"I can carry her weapons for her!" he declared, trying for the next thing to come to mind. "Carrying all the weapons, she probably has will slow her down and she'll need to be lightning quick to stay alive."

"Same problem as before. It's basic strategy to remove an enemy's support mechanisms first before going in for the kill," she pointed out before taking on a more compassionate expression. "I understand your wish to aid the Slayer but to do so without knowing your own limitations puts both you and her in danger."

"If this is the 'stay out of Slayer business' speech, you can save it," he said with a bit of irritability in his voice. "I've already heard it from Giles and I'm as deaf to it now as I was then. No one should have to fight against monsters alone. No offense to G-man but a one man back up brigade isn't much back up."

"To be perfectly honest I agree with you, Xander. Despite all the advantages the Slayer has in her fight against the darkness, she is only one person and most Watchers are decidedly past their physical prime when they're assigned a charge," she said, sounding honest with her words. "However it is the position of the senior Council members that adding more people to the Slayer's local support group would make her more vulnerable from a security standpoint. More people to hold hostage, more people to place mind altering or controlling spells on and the more distractions from their very important duties."

"The same could be said for every person in whatever town or city the Slayer gets stationed in," he said, countering the rather stupid position of the Council. "The only way they'd keep all those problems to a minimum is if they assigned her to someplace in the middle of nowhere. If they're supposed to guide and train the Slayer then that must mean they want to keep her alive as long as possible. That'll only happen once she's given a proper local support team. Five highly trained people at least, with four of them fit for combat duty."

"And where would these highly trained people come from?" she asked, sounding like she'd humor his train of thought for the time being.

"Well, there's no way the major governments of the world don't know about the demons and the supernatural, so the Council could get a few of them to contribute their best people in the necessary fields to support the Slayer," he replied as the concept came together. "After all, if the planet goes to hell, so does their country, so it'd be in their best interests to contribute to the support of the Slayer. Add in some decent equipment and the Slayer should be able to live until she's a grandmother."

"What about corruption? As I am sure you know not every government official or member of the military is corruption free and some would sell their own family up the river for the right price," she pointed out, playing devil's advocate to his position. "What's to keep certain demons or dark magic users from bribing a government or military to kill the Slayer or capture her so that she could be turned over to them?"

"Well, since the Council seems to be full of eggheads, I'm assuming they've kept tabs on which countries have made deals with which demons. So all they have to do is exclude those countries with the biggest history of making a deal with the devil or whose movers and shakers have been caught associating with the wrong crowd," he replied, not having a problem coming up with an answer to that question. "Then ask whoever's left to contribute someone to be on the Slayer's support team."

"Well what if those remaining countries have just managed to slip under the radar of the Council and are as dirty as the ones that've been excluded?" she asked, making a valid point.

"Well, it's the same risk as any member of the Council, isn't it?" he asked rhetorically, turning to look her in the eye. "Just 'cause one family or another has managed to keep their record clean for a couple of centuries doesn't mean they aren't dirty on the inside."

"True," she conceded with a smile. "You're a very unique individual, Xander. Most people your age wouldn't have put such thought into the Calling of the Slayer. They would've just enjoyed the ride and run away when it became too dangerous for them."

"Like the old saying goes: all that is needed for evil to triumph is for good people to stand by and do nothing." His usual lopsided smile faded as he took on a more serious tone. "Besides… those bloodsuckers took someone from me that I considered to be a brother and I intend to spend the rest of my life making them pay for it with the undead lives."

"I understand your anger, Xander. No one who knows of the secret side of this world is spared the pain of loss. However you cannot let your anger overwhelm you and govern your actions," she said with a cautionary tone of voice. "History is full of people who have let vengeance dominate their lives and none of them were able to go back to the lives they'd left behind. Revenge is like an out of control fire in that it burns through everything that strays too close to it, leaving nothing but scorch and ash behind. In your case it'll be you and those you care for who wind up getting burned."

"Don't worry. I've watched the Star Wars Trilogy enough times to know where being a hothead will land me," he said, reigning in his desire to avenge Jesse. "Doesn't mean I'm not going to try to dust as many vamps as I can before the grim reaper comes calling."

"Just remember that it takes an equal amount of both brawn AND brains to survive any form of physical combat. If you are determined to continue fighting against the darkness, work hard to develop both rather than focusing on just one," she said with a bit of wisdom to her tone. "Muscle can only get you so far but, combine it with brains of equal quality, and you become quite formidable."

"I'll take that under advisement, Miss Harkness." He closed the book he'd been leafing through. "So… you think we can stop whatever this Ra's guy is trying to do?"

"It'll be close but I believe we can emerge victorious," she replied with a confident smile on her face. "Ra's Al Ghul is just a man when you get right down to it and men are fallible. If we are watchful and perceptive enough, we'll be able to see his mistakes and capitalize on them."

"Then let's hope none of us develop any sudden vision problems," he said as he took the next book from the pile that Giles had asked them to look through for information on the seed of yin and the League of Shadows.

The clock was ticking after all.


	3. Memorable Changes

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the copyrighted material contained herein. They are the rightful property of their respective creators and/or associated companies. I make no profit from this whatsoever and I have no intention of changing this at any point in the future. I write because it's fun and because there are those who enjoy reading my work.

 _ **Sunnydale Graveyard**_

 _ **Buffy's POV**_

 _MAN! Giles wasn't kidding when he said things'd get crazy,_ she thought as she decapitated her latest vampire of the night. _That was my fifth group of vampires tonight!_

Indeed, she'd been going all over Sunnydale looking for demons running amok or acting wilder than they usually did and had discovered that things had become five times busier than they usually were. Normally when she patrolled all she got was a light workout but at the moment she was definitely sweating hard enough that when she got home a nice, hot shower would be just what the doctor ordered. Slayer healing would take care of most of the bruises and scrapes she'd picked up along the way but it wouldn't get rid of the sweat or the stink. She'd have to roll up her jacket in order to hide some of the tears one of the vamps did earlier and then see if she could get it to the local tailor to be sewn up so her mother wouldn't think she'd gotten into a fight again. Things had been a little dicey since the two of them had moved to Sunnydale but she believed that she'd managed to keep her mother happy while still leading the sort of life she wanted for herself. Getting into the whole Slaying game again hadn't been part of her relocation plans but, when the bloodsuckers came calling, she really hadn't had much choice.

At least she wasn't alone in the fight anymore.

Sure, Willow and Xander didn't help much with the fighting side of things but the redhead was a whiz at research and Xan made things easier with his jokes as well as his junk food runs. After all there was only so much British seriousness she could take in the run of a day before she needed some way to relax. Besides, since her nighttime activities pretty much made her a freak in the eyes of the in crowd of Sunnydale High School, it wasn't like she could go back to her old Hemery High days. Willow and Xander were the only people who knew the real her and still wanted to hang out with her. More than that, they wanted to do what they could to help her out despite the trouble they'd be getting themselves into.

She couldn't help but feel touched by how far they were willing to go for her.

Still, she couldn't help but feel a little guilty for luring them away from the normal life that'd been taken away from her by Fate.

 _Best I can hope for is that they'll figure out how dangerous it is and stick to helping Giles in the library,_ she thought as she broke into a light run heading for the next cemetery. _If anything happened to them… I… I don't know what I'd do…_

It only took her a couple of minutes at the pace she'd been running, a speed equal to that of an Olympic sprinter, to reach the next cemetery but when she got there she discovered that she'd already missed one helluva party. Tombstones were shattered, a few mausoleums demolished and scattered about the area were bodies both human as well as demonic, wounds covering them all. Some were from guns, others bladed weaponry and, considering the parts that looked like they'd been turned into hamburger? Something a lot more exotic had been used. She didn't think it was explosives because, even with all the noise Sunnydale made at night, she was pretty sure she'd have heard the booms. Keeping her hands near the grips of the twin daggers she'd sheathed on her hips, she slowly advanced forward, making sure to watch for even the smallest hint that someone was preparing to strike from the shadows. Sure, the League of Shadows was just a name to her with a serious rep tacked on by the Brit brigade, but if Giles was stressed over them then she'd take them seriously.

Inch by inch she moved forward, eyes wide open, her reflexes as sharp as they could be so that she could respond in an instant to the slightest sign of danger. Her Slayer senses allowed her to be more aware of her surroundings than most people, even if it was the middle of the night, but that didn't mean that there was no place to hide from her. Due to her less than willing nature when it came to her Calling, she'd never really spent time learning how to filter the sensory information so that she could pick the one thing she wanted out of the a collection of a hundred. So, sure, if it was something really obvious she could probably follow it or keep track of it but pick one voice out of a crowd of blabbers? That at best got a maybe.

Pfft!

On reflex alone she spun around, bringing a blade to where her instincts told her she should put it and it was a good thing she listened to her instincts because with a soft 'ting' she deflected something out of mid-air just after it entered her personal space. Looking to where she'd seen fragments of what she'd deflected fall, she saw what looked to be one of those cliché tranquilizer darts used by half naked amazon tribesmen, things that looked like big toothpicks with little tufts of bird feathers at one end but, judging by the slightly off coloration of the wood of the dart, it'd been dipped in a little something extra.

She'd bet her monthly shoe budget that it was something lethal.

Looking in the direction she figured the dart probably came from, she watched as a man that definitely looked like a cross between a black ops soldier and ninja emerged from the bushes. Casually, as though he didn't think he was in any danger, he placed the dart tube he'd used on his belt before taking out something that wasn't a sword or a dagger but something in between.

"Good reflexes, Miss Summers, but you should have let that dart pierce your skin," the man said as he took up a strong offense stance. "It was coated with a poison that would have made your death quick and relatively painless. Now it will be worse; much worse."

"Sheeesh! Talk about cliché!" she said with mock annoyance as she brought both blades into position to shift to either offense or defense in an instant. "You would not believe how many vamps or demons have used that kinda line on me. How about you do something original like tell me why I'm suddenly in your crosshairs? Accord to my Watcher you've just been hitting the bad guys so far."

"Suffice it to say that your… interference… will no longer be tolerated," the man said as he inched closer towards her. "Nor will the interference of those who support you. All will die tonight."

"WRONG thing to say, buster!" she snapped as she made the choice to take the man down hard.

Lunging forward, determined to take the lead position in the fight, she began her attack, focusing her efforts on scoring disabling wounds that would render the man incapable of continuing the fight. Once she was sure he was down for the count she'd knock him out then drag him back to the library so his wounds could be treated and an aggressive Q&A session could be carried out. If they could get the guy to talk they could find out where the seed was and squash it before it could work its mojo on all of Sunnydale. In truth, despite the benefit of a doubt, she was giving the guy because of what Giles had said she honestly believed that the fight would be over relatively quickly. After all, she was the Slayer, legendary demon killing warrior from an ancient bloodline, with a body that could outperform any normal human in every measurable way.

In her mind there was no way a normal human could be a match for her.

Yet somehow, some way, he was managing to keep up with her move for move.

So she did what most people did when they failed in their first attempt: she tried harder. She did her best to push herself to move faster, make her movements sharper and use some of the more complex combos Giles had drilled into her. However, while this brought her closer to hitting her target, no blood was released as a result of her blades and it was beginning to get on her nerves.

She could only presume that her anger was what had made her careless enough for ninja-man's blade to bite into her left upper arm.

"Aaahhhh!" she cried out in pain before leaping back a good six feet or so.

"You have talent, Miss Summers, but you will never defeat me. Why?" Ninja-man asked rhetorically as he stalked her. "Because for all your physically prowess you haven't trained nearly enough to take full advantage of your body's abilities. I can read you like an open book. Every move you make against me might as well be called out to me a full ten seconds in advance."

"Oh yeah?! Well read THIS!" she yelled, ignoring the pain from her arm in favor of pushing her Slayer body to its upper limits.

Sure, she sounded like she was letting her anger go to her head but that was far from the case. It was all meant as a show to make her opponent think that she was dancing to his tune when in fact she was setting him up for his own personal swan song. She made her moves look reckless but she was using them to get a better handle on his instinctive reactions. She missed with her slashes to see how far on one side or another the attack had to be to trigger a block from the right hand or the left. She introduced the odd kick to see how agile he could be. All this was being evaluated and debated by her, probably on more levels than even she realized, allowing her to mentally adjust her usual fighting habits to better suit the present opponent.

Giles had told her that this was one of the Slayer's greatest abilities: the ability to adapt and get better right in the heat of battle.

It was right as the man managed to score three more light cuts on her that she put her adjustments to work and began to turn things around. Instead of keeping her speed all the way up all the time she utilized it in spurts, only using it at just the right moment to dodge, block or strike her enemy. Regardless of the man's training it was a scientific fact that humans needed a quarter of a second to perceive something and another quarter second to react. By waiting until she was close enough that she denied him that time her attacks and blocks stood a better chance of connecting. The only flaw, however, was that getting that close also made it harder to evade and block his attacks and he was definitely trying to kill her as opposed to just defeating her.

 _I'll just have to hope that that I score the winning blow before he does._

Time passed and she could tell that while in theory her plan was good her ability to pull it off wasn't the greatest and it was causing her to rack up increasing amounts of damage. Already one of the sleeves of her jacket had been torn to ribbons, not to mention gone from being white to a very bloody red. She hadn't quite lost use of it but the more time passed, the harder it was to get it to move as quickly as she wanted. She'd only suffered one successful slice to her body, across her right hip, and BOY did that hurt, but it was all worth it. Already she could see signs of hesitation begin to develop in her opponent as well as increased effort where before he'd been acting all superior towards her. However she didn't dive in just yet, she worked to maximize the hesitation with near misses that got closer each time, because despite her brilliant new strategy she knew she'd only get one shot. This guy was a pro and, for the first time since she'd been called as the Slayer, she began to think that MAYBE she should've been training a little harder than she had been. If a normal, unenhanced human could give her this much grief, what'd happen if she ever had to fight a demon that'd completely devoted themselves to their combat training.

The LAST think she wanted was for her mother to be called to the Sunnydale coroner's office to identify her body.

 _No…no…not yet…no…_ she thought as her sharp eyes tracked the limbs of her foe. _NOW!_

With a quick feint and a twist of her body she thrust one of her daggers forward, intent on piercing her foe's stomach. While potentially lethal she'd be sure to stop by the nearest payphone and call in an ambulance with assurances that the 'gang members on PCP' were cleared from the area. So long as they didn't drag their feet, the ninja would get the care he needed and be in perfect condition for interrogation.

It was with a mix of revulsion and satisfaction she felt her blade pierce through whatever body armor the guy was wearing and sink into the flesh, causing warm blood to spill forth.

"Game over, ninja-dude," she said with the same tone she used with vamps before they fell to dust.

"For…both…of us…" the ninja said before a curious sensation caused her to look down.

His sword… but it was missing its blade… where…

She didn't have time to think on it further because the pain hit her as she realized that, just as she had been going for the winning move, so too had her foe. Letting go of her dagger she staggered backwards, her abdominal muscles screaming at her to stop moving, to just lay down, even as the blade slid out of her, increasing the damage.

 _No problem, s_ he thought even as she pressed a hand to the wound to apply pressure. _I'm the Slayer. Just need to get to Giles and have him bandage me up, maybe put a few stitches in, and my super healing will take care of the rest._

With every step being painful beyond anything she'd previously experienced she began to move in the direction of the high school where her Watcher would be working with his fellow Brits. It was hard but her mother had always said she was too stubborn for her own good and that'd prove to be an asset in this case. She just hoped that no vamps caught a whiff of her blood because she was in no shape to fend off a pack of fang faces at the moment.

"…You're…going the…wrong way…" the ninja gasped from his place on the ground. "…home's…that way…"

For a moment she didn't know what he was referring to but, as her pain-laced mind recalled everything the ninja had said, fear overrode the agony.

 _Nor will the interference of those who support you. All will die tonight._

 _Those who support me…_ she thought before changing the direction and speed she'd been moving. _…MOM!_

With all the speed she could muster she began to make her way home, taking any deviations that she thought could get her there that much quicker. A part of her knew that a woman with a cane could probably go quicker than she currently was but the larger part of her focused on getting to her mother as soon as she possibly could. Nothing else mattered other than getting to the woman who'd brought her into the world and keeping her safe from the assassin sent to kill her.

It was as she turned a corner and walked out onto the street that she spotted one of the few living residents of Sunnydale out at night. Dressed in biker leathers he was walking towards his motorcycle that kinda looked like the one Tom Cruise drove in 'Top Gun'. On instinct alone she made a choice, walking as quickly as she could towards the guy and, the second he slid his key into the bike, she grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him to the side.

"Sorry! Get it back to you later!" she said before retracting the kickstand and revving the engine.

Sure, she didn't know precisely how to drive a motorcycle but she figured that it couldn't be much harder than riding a normal bicycle. It'd just be faster and she'd have to be a bit careful at the turns to make sure she didn't slide right into a telephone pole.

Hopefully it'd be better than the time her father had let her drive around the block...

 _ **Sunnydale High School**_

 _ **Xander's POV**_

"Any word from Buffy?" he asked as he entered the library.

"Not since she reported finishing off the group of vampires outside that warehouse," Giles said as he and two senior Watchers continued to pour over maps of Sunnydale.

Seeing the look on Travers and Pryce's face, he realized that he was being a little worrywart with the Slayer but he just couldn't help it. This was a fight that Buffy wasn't prepared for, against foes she'd hesitate to go the extra mile with because of the 'no killing humans' rule. Hesitation could kill you in a fight. He'd learned that many a time when he'd stood up to the bullies of Sunnydale and, while he still did it from time to time, it wasn't as frequent as it'd been in the beginning. He could understand it, mostly, but at the same time he couldn't help but come to the conclusion that sometimes you had to treat the human threats the same as you would the demonic ones. With the world almost completely ignorant of the truth, you couldn't rely on the cops to be able to handle the mojo users or the demons because, as far as they were concerned, such things didn't exist. As a result when threats of that nature appeared and containment wasn't an option, removing them from the board altogether was option number two.

He'd do it if he had to but ONLY if he had to. The lives of potential future victims were worth more than keeping his hands clean.

Stepping up to the table, he prepared to look through the printouts that Willow had managed to find online concerning the buildings in the area they believed the seed of yin was located when something caught his attention. A quick, almost invisible, shadow passed over the stack of paper, making him look up at the skylight of the library. For a shadow to pass over from up there meant that something bigger than a tennis ball had to have gone over or past the skylight and, considering the atmosphere of ninja permeating Sunnydale, it put him on edge. If he was right then they were all in big trouble but that also meant that he had to keep his cool in order to keep from letting the soon to be gate crashers realize that they'd been spotted. Picking up a handful of papers, he began to go through the motions of reading through them while inching closer to the book cage where the weapons were stored.

He didn't know how long he'd last against elite ninja assassins but he'd much prefer doing it armed.

He got to about three feet away from the cage when the shit hit the fan as black clad fellows crashed through every door and window the library had. Growling with frustration he moved as quickly as he could for the cage, yanking it open and grabbing hold of the first weapon he could get his hands on. That turned out to be a rapier and, while not his first choice, he didn't have time to go for another weapon because one of the ninjas zeroed in on him with lethal intent. Out of reflex alone he managed to parry the first thrust but after that things got a great deal more difficult with the gap in skill being all too apparent. That didn't make him give up but it did cause minding his surroundings to be next to impossible since it was taking everything he had to keep track of the killer right in front of him.

He didn't know what instincts were keeping him alive at the moment but he hoped that they stuck around until the last of the shadowy baddies hit the floor.

Lady luck had a thing for him because something hit his sparring partner in the shoulder hard enough to distract him and like lightning he leapt on the opening it provided him with. Lunging forward like he'd seen Giles do so many times before when he sparred with Buffy, he hit pay dirt as it went through the vest and, instead of hitting bone, managed to sink even deeper. Whatever he hit proved to be vital because seconds later the ninja dropped like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

 _Must've been the heart,_ he thought as he looked past where the man had been standing to see Willow looking at him with adrenaline-fueled eyes.

Nodding to her in thanks he looked for the next unoccupied ninja or someone who needed backup. Seeing Mister Pryce backed up against the proverbial wall, skillfully using a bow staff even if it was being chipped away with every blocked blow. Moving to support the man, his steps proved to be too loud because one of the two ninjas turned to face him, so he moved to go on the offensive. Lashing out with a series of quick slashes he managed to keep his new foe focused on blocking rather than attacking but it was quite the effort. He barely had enough time to think, let alone come up with something complex, so it was basically those cheap moves in the fighter video games where you just kept tapping the one punch or kick button until you won. It worked better if you had your opponent backed up against the wall but that wasn't the case, so he'd make do with what he had.

It wasn't enough.

His arm started getting tired with all the quick and repetitive slashes so it wasn't a surprise to him when fatigue slowed him down enough for the ninja to turn the tide. After that it was back to him scrambling to block every sword swing while hoping that his rapier could stand up to the punishment. He remembered hearing from Giles that the rapier was meant for quick thrusting attacks not banging it against another piece of sharp metal. A thicker piece of metal that made him wait with fear for the moment that his rapier's blade would snap in half from the beating it was taking. He hoped that Pryce would finish with his foe quickly enough to repay the backup favor because otherwise he'd be in for the sort of pain that landed a person in the hospital.

Thunk!

"Much obliged for the aid, young man," Pryce said, a bloody cut down the side of his head. "Consider this repayment."

He nodded before moving to see who needed help or who his new adversary would be only to see Giles quickly dispatch his second sparring partner with a skillful slash to the throat.

"Good to see 'the Ripper' has not lost his edge," Pryce said with snide bit of respect.

"That was a long time ago, Robert," Giles said, beginning to show signs of the amount of exertion he'd been implementing.

"Nevertheless, thanks to the surprising aptitude with a rapier that Mister Harris showed and your own efforts, we have managed to fend off the first attack by the League," Robert said before he tossed aside the bow staff and moved towards the book cage for something more lethal.

"First attack?" he asked, almost dreading what that implied.

"They've clearly decided that eliminating us has become a priority, which means our search of our suspected area of Sunnydale is indeed the correct course of action," Robert replied, selecting a gladius. "Once word has reached them that this team failed they will send another and it will be larger. Probably better armed, too."

"We have to warn the others," Giles said as he walked briskly to the library phone. "If we came under attack then they are in danger as well."

"That is probably wise," Robert said even as he began to look about the library. "Even if it is likely that they are already under assault."

"Thank you, Mister Positive," he said with a bit of an edge at the man's pessimistic attitude.

"Optimism is a luxury one can ill afford in war, Mister Harris," Robert said, speaking as though it was a universal truth. "Better to accept the facts as they are then hope for them to be better."

 _Spoken as a man who has had all his dreams shot down,_ he thought even as he went over to see how Willow was holding up.

"You okay, Willow?" he asked as he knelt in front of her.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good! Just peachy with a side of keen!" she replied, obviously frazzled beyond words.

"Just remember: oxygen is your friend," he said as he patted her reassuringly on her shoulder. "We're safe for now. We made it through the fight just like we always did and we'll keep on doing it."

"Yeah…good…" Willow said, sounding like she was gradually calming down a bit.

As his mind drifted back to the fight, he tried to figure out what he could learn about it that could help him when the next wave hit them. There were five ninjas who'd come in quite competently through every way into the library, armed for bear. They'd attacked everyone in the room indiscriminately, which meant that either they'd been given blanket orders to kill everyone in the room or him and Willow were important enough to earn kill orders right beside the Watchers. Considering how new he and Willow were to the whole demon hunting business, he doubted very much that they'd earned anything resembling a reputation worth killing over. That meant that the ninjas had been given an indiscriminate kill order for every Watcher and anyone seen to be working…with…them…

"Missus Summers!" he exclaimed as he realized that there was one more person who might be in the crosshairs of the black clad warriors.

"What?" Willow asked, sounding a little confused.

"These guys weren't just going after Watchers!" he replied as he dashed to the weapons and grabbed a tomahawk. "They were trying to kill all of us! What if their orders are to kill the Slayer, the Watchers and anyone close to them?! That means Missus S is on their kill list too!"

"That's ridiculous! They only attacked you and Miss Rosenberg because you were in the room with us," Robert said, dismissing the notion. "With Slayer Summers out on patrol they have no reason to go after her mother. They can just attack her and be done with it."

"You're assuming these people care about keeping their body count low!" he growled. "Giles! Tell Travers and the Witch lady what's going on. Tell them to get someone over to Buffy's house pronto. I'm heading there now."

"WHAT!?" Willow exclaimed getting out of the chair she'd been sitting in. "You can't! Xander, these are trained killers! You beat two by luck and by help! It's not going to happen again!"

"So you'd prefer I leave Joyce to fight on her own?!" he said, not stopping as he began to move towards the library doors. "She doesn't know anything about any of this! She'll be a sitting duck!"

"Regrettable, young man, but do you REALLY think you can do anything?" Robert asked with a cynical tone. "You barely survived this encounter and that was with help. Do you really think you can do so again on your own?"

"You never know until you try," he said, not breaking his stride.

Even as he walked down the school hallway, picking up speed as he went, he knew that they were right. He'd survived the fight because of luck more than anything else and going up against another batch of ninja was seriously pushing that luck. Still, considering the fact that he'd lived on a Hellmouth his entire life without running afoul of any demons or vampires, he had to think his luck was pretty strong. The fact that he'd also survived Tony's numerous beatings when by rights one of them should've permanently injured him or even killed him only made him think he was even luckier.

He was betting on that luck to see him through this crisis and save Missus Summers' life.

Even if it failed him, he'd still go to rescue Joyce because standing by and doing nothing went against everything he was.

He'd failed to save Jesse because he was too late in going to his rescue.

He would not be too late to save Joyce.

 _ **Ra's Al Ghul's POV**_

"We're entering the final stages of the ceremony," he said as he listened to the chants of his mages. "Time to go."

"I shall ready your car for departure, master," Ubu said with a formal bow before he turned towards the garage of the building that was their temporary HQ.

Issuing orders to the remaining members of his League to begin packing up their possessions in preparation for their departure, he did not ask for those warriors still in the field to be notified. If they suddenly started pulling back or moving to leave the city it might tip off Wilkins that something was not as it appeared. When one saw rats fleeing a ship, one suddenly got the urge to start looking for holes with water bubbling up through them. While it was unlikely that the man would suspect a hole named 'seed of yin' in time, the worrying possibilities might be enough to make the man leave town. THAT would ruin the point he was trying to make since missing the target you were aiming for did have a habit of damaging your reputation, especially if it wasn't intentional. As such he would have to leave them behind but he knew they would not mind if it meant helping him achieve his objective. He would make the customary speech once they returned to Nanda Parbat about how honored he was by their sacrifice, go on to tell his followers a few things he remembered about the fallen like they'd been old friends before ending things in a rousing manner, focusing on how the League would always endure.

Loyalty bred loyalty, even if his ultimate loyalty was to his objectives.

Ten minutes later he exited the building and slid into the backseat even as the rest of his men boarded the escort vehicles, two of which would stick close to him while the rest went different routes. A small convoy of three could slip out of the city unnoticed for the most part and his charade did imply some assets from outside the city were on their way in, so even if Wilkins found out it would not be immediately alarming.

"How have the men faired with their Watcher targets?" he asked out of mild curiosity and nothing more.

"Team one is not responding and are assumed to be dead. The agent sent to kill the Slayer managed to notify us of his failure before dying," Ubu replied even as he navigated the city streets. "He said he manipulated her into heading home rather than to the library by implying that her mother was a target."

"Good. Inform the agent watching the Summers home that Missus Summers is now a kill target but to wait until he sees the Slayer turn the corner before acting," he ordered as a scenario manifested in his mind. "A daughter should always be with her mother at the end."

"As you command, master," Ubu said from the driver's seat before reaching for the com-device on his shoulder.

While he had to admit he was a little surprised that his agent had failed to kill the Slayer given what her file said, he was certain that she had not emerged from the encounter unscathed. His people were trained from a very young age to be the best at their chosen role and those that were inducted from outside their ranks were quickly made to meet his exacting standards. Complacency and arrogance were quickly beaten out of them, with any 'relapses' being stomped on before they could grow. For Miss Summers to overcome one of them and live spoke well of her prowess and almost made him regret what was to happen a short while. While he might wish for the human race's population to be culled to a more ecologically sound number, he respected the Slayer line for its contribution to the planet's wellbeing. They were the unsung heroes that rarely got the recognition they deserved and when they did, it was for something more… societally acceptable.

Just look at Joan of Arc.

Still, if he managed to give the Watcher's Council a bloody nose at the same time he disposed of Wilkins, his message would hit all the harder for those who knew both sides of the world. They would know not to have ambition beyond their station, not to endanger his plans so recklessly and what awaited them should they think themselves his equal.

As they exited the city he knew that it would probably be better for him to continue on his way but a part of him just wanted to witness the effects of the seed of yin for himself. He had only ever seen the aftermath of the deployment the previous time that he'd used one long after the pyrotechnics had dispersed. This time… this time he wanted to see it in all its glory.

"Pull over, Ubu," he ordered, having come to a decision. "I wish to witness this firsthand."

"As you command," Ubu said before obeying.

Once the vehicle came to a stop his most loyal subordinate exited the car and opened his door so he could step outside. Walking with all the authority and power he possessed, he took a few steps towards Sunnydale before coming to a stop, his eyes set on the lights that were visible from this distance. Internally he counted down the seconds that were left before the seed would ignite just as he had been doing ever since his mages had begun the rites and, when he finally reached zero, he witnessed something wonderful. Like a slow moving rocket he watched a crimson light rise into the sky, twinkling slightly as it went, but it was when it reached its desired altitude that the real show began. With a lightshow akin to a small supernova the energy within the seed was released, rolling in waves across Sunnydale, and the reaction with the Hellmouth energies was spectacular. Vibrations akin to an earthquake began to reach him both through the ground as well as the air increasing in strength until he had to brace himself to keep from being knocked over.

For Sunnydale, however, things were a great deal more dramatic as areas of earth began to upend, sometimes shifting a full ninety degrees. Buildings crumbled amidst the chaos and fiery explosions erupted at random as what he suspected were gas lines ignited and gas stations detonated. Evermore the destruction spread until he wondered if there'd be anything left of Sunnydale by the time the last of the energies dissipated. Would there be survivors? There were both pros and cons to that scenario but it would be up to the Fates to decide that.

It took almost a full thirty minutes before the last of the truly dramatic devastation settled down, leaving only a few lingering pops and fires that would burn until they ran out of fuel or were put out. He listened carefully and could just begin to hear the cries of pain and the screams of anguish as the citizens got over the shock and began to register the consequences of the seed's work. Would any of them recover their senses and begin to help their fellow citizens? Or would they merely work to get out of what remained of Sunnydale on their own, prioritizing their own survival over everything else? It was tough to say since, even with his years of experience, some people actually managed to surprise him in rising above the behavior he expected of humanity.

 _With any luck the devastation will have killed or effectively maimed all my enemies, leaving nothing but the message I wish to send._ He turned back towards his car. _It would be most troublesome if one in particular survived._

He would have to watch the news broadcasts carefully from this day forward.

 _ **The Devastated Streets of Sunnydale**_

 _ **Quentin Travers' POV**_

"Lord Travers? Lord Travers, are you okay?" asked a voice that went from foggy to clear with every word.

"W-what happened?" he said as he opened his eyes even as he tried to push himself into a sitting position.

"The seed… it detonated," the voice he now knew belonged to Miss Harkness replied even as he began to take in his surroundings. "I managed to shield us from the devastation it caused and the group back at the hotel did the same. However the field operatives… and some of my students… were not so lucky."

He imagined not.

According to Council records regarding the seeds of yin there were indications that those with magic in them or cast on them could be affected by it, albeit to a lesser degree than demons or demonic energy. Nothing concrete but he had his suspicions based on the archived reports of the last time a seed was used by Ra's Al Ghul. As such he was not surprised to hear that some of the witches of the Devon Coven hadn't managed to whether the storm as well as others had. It took a measure of power or skill to combat forces that sought to destroy you like a force of nature. Sometimes it took both.

"They will be remembered," he said even as he got to his feet.

Looking about he couldn't help but look aghast at the level of destruction his eyes saw for it made clear to him that the archived reports did not do the seed of yin justice. Everywhere he looked flames burned and ground was upended as though a literal titan of Greek myth had come to Sunnydale to destroy everything. He could only imagine how many innocent people were now dead, how many were dying and how many were just recovering their senses like him only to view this horrible landscape. The only thing in their favor at the moment was the fact that apparently the seed's detonation hadn't opened the Hellmouth, otherwise they'd be hip deep in true demons at the moment. Given that the Coven representatives hadn't been able to locate the seed, much less cast a spell to disarm it, he could only presume that Ghul's own mages must've somehow kept the gates of hell from opening.

He doubted that it was for any altruistic reason. More likely that he did not want Old Ones to interfere with his plans for the Earth.

It was then that he recalled why his group had been caught in the middle of the street when the seed detonated and then, a little quicker than he probably should've, he turned to look in the direction of the Summers home. If the effects had been so violent on the town itself, how would it have fared on someone with an essence fragment of an Old One inside their body… their very SOUL. It was a closely guarded secret, told only to those who NEEDED to know, how the Slayer line began and while most of the details had been lost to time one fact rang loud and clear.

The source of the Slayer's power was the fact that they carried an essence fragment of an Old One inside them. This was 'the taint' that threatened to overwhelm the young women as they reached the age of eighteen because, like everything living, it grew as time passed. When a girl was first Called it was small enough so that only the enhancements manifested themselves but after a few years, usually three or four, mental issues began to surface ever so lightly. Given that Miss Summers had been the Slayer for a little over a year now it was safe to say that the fragment would have grown a significant amount. To have it and be hit with the energy of the seed…

"Gather what magical supplies are still salvageable and follow me," he ordered even as he moved to their vehicle to carry it out himself. "We must make for the Summers home with all speed."

For a moment Miss Harkness seemed puzzled but it didn't take her long to connect the dots, even if she didn't know the details of why he was concerned. With an eye trained for such things he began to sift through the chaos of the vehicle's interior, looking for bottles that were broken and those that were not. He identified each ingredient and determined its continued viability as a spell ingredient, even if it was found a mere pile of sand on the floor of the vehicle. Five minutes was the longest he was willing to take gathering and, once all that had been salvaged was in a bag, he'd grabbed they made for the Summers home as swiftly as they could considering the uneven terrain. Screams of the injured and distraught echoed through the air but he shut them out since he knew there was little he could do to aid them. He and his team had not come to Sunnydale equipped for search and rescue, nor did they have sufficient ingredients for a healing spell to save everyone. What was important was to get to Slayer Summers and determine her status. While personally he believed that she was most likely dead, there was academic value in seeing firsthand what effects a seed of yin would have on a Slayer.

Ra's Al Ghul did have more than one of them, after all, and if the madman decided to activate another one he or his successors would need to know whether or not to order the future Slayer to vacate the area. It was likely that Slayer Summers' passing had simply activated the next girl to be Called but it was also possible that the seed had damaged the Slayer essence fragment. If it was the former then the darkness of the world would be given an unexpected window of opportunity for as long as it took to locate the newly called and train her in the basics. If it was the latter it could mean anything from the enhancements being diluted to being unreliable as they fluctuated or temporarily vanished. There were just too many possibilities and it was his duty to narrow them down so that decisive action could be taken to offset any problems.

 _Enough! Ascertain Slayer Summers' condition as well as that of the Slayer essence THEN make decisions,_ he thought as his group continued to navigate the ruins of what was once Sunnydale.

It took longer than it normally would've to get to Revello Drive but when he did he didn't know whether to be happy or worried that the Summers home appeared to be mostly intact. Windows were shattered and there were deformations in the structure indicating breaks in the wooden frame no doubt caused by the violence of the quake reaction. Nevertheless it still remained MOSTLY house shaped so he'd compliment the construction firm on their quality workmanship. Navigating his way along the most direct route to the front door, he opened it as slowly as he could since he didn't want to chance Slayer Summers mistaking him for an attacker. The girl might not be a Council trained Slayer but she had defeated Lothos within her first year of being the Slayer, so she wasn't completely inept and, even when he'd cut away Rupert's needless praise of her, there was enough there to respect.

Once the door was open enough he entered the house to find that the inside looked very much like the outside, with the staircase barely retaining its general shape while the steps themselves were randomly broken in two. Looking about the immediate area, he thought that it'd be awhile before he'd find Slayer Summers and her mother but he found them almost immediately.

He did not like what he found.

The first thing he saw was a dead League assassin covered in blood, though based on the wounds he could see he didn't think all of it was his. The next thing he saw registered on a whole different level for it was Elisabeth 'Buffy' Summers lying on her back slash wounds everywhere along with her blood. He rushed to her side and immediately began to check for a pulse as well as other means of verifying that someone was still alive. For a moment he feared he had been too slow but then he felt it, ever so lightly, a pulse.

"She's alive. Barely," he said before gazing about for any sign of Missus Summers.

"I'll get to work immediately," Harkness said as she knelt down next to the badly injured Slayer, setting out the tools she'd brought with her from the vehicle.

"I'll go see if I can find Missus Summers," he said as he got to his feet and moved to check the other ground floor rooms.

Based on the available evidence he would have to surmise that Slayer Summers managed to get home in time to intervene with the assassin's attempt to kill her mother. A fight likely ensued but it ended with both of them down and one of them dead. As he carefully placed each foot, he made it into the dining room but no one was there besides broken tables and chairs. He was about to move on when he noticed a bloody handprint on the doorframe leading into the kitchen and swiftly moved in that direction. He looked about the room as soon as he entered and what he found made his desire to take the fight to the League of Shadows take an Olympic leap up.

Missus Summers was on the ground, her back to some cupboards, a hand pressed to her stomach trying to keep in quite a bit of blood and possibly some internal organs. With the amount of blood he was seeing he surmised she had been dealt a slash wound across the stomach, had attempted to flee on her daughter's orders, but only made it as far as the kitchen before falling to the ground. Whether the fall was caused by the pain caused by her wound or by the quake triggered by the seed he didn't know but the end result was the same. The only thing that made her discovery different from her daughter's was that the woman was still more or less conscious, albeit too weak to get to her feet.

"Missus Summers!" he said as he went to her side. "Missus Summers, can you hear me?"

"Who…who are you?" Missus Summers asked, raising her head weakly to look at him.

"A friend of Mister Giles," he replied, keeping to the truth for the most part. "I was…in the area when the quake hit and thought it best to see if you were alright."

"B-Buffy…?" she asked with genuine worry in her weak voice.

"I'm… having my personal nurse tend to her now," he replied, figuring that 'nurse' was better than 'witch'. "She'll get you both stabilized."

From there he did what he could to care for her using the standard First Aid training that all Watchers underwent when the likelihood of field work came into the picture. Given the severity of the wound there was little he could do to mend the most serious wound so he tended to the smaller ones that'd been caused likely by the quake. It was a dozen minutes later when he heard footsteps and so, with all the subtlety he could manage, he turned to face a potential threat only to find Miss Harkness approaching.

"How is she?" he asked, hoping there was positive news.

"Not well," Harkness replied, looking like someone had just been told they were terminal. "Her… unique resiliency… has vanished. Even if she were evacuated by helicopter in one minute… I'm afraid there's nothing I can do."

"No…" Missus Summers cried, looking and sounding like her heart had just been shattered into a dozen pieces. "…my baby!"

Seeing the anguish, the sorrow, his mind was temporarily overtaken with what rare fragments of memory he retained from the day he nearly died at the hands of a rogue Slayer. The trauma, the loss of his life's blood, made his memories sketchy but one thing that he remembered all too clearly was his mother's cries of fear and sorrow highlighted perfectly by his name being spoken repeatedly. He never saw what happened that day, there'd been no security cameras in the room that day, but his imagination had no problems coming up with possible scenarios. Now… now it felt like it was happening all over again albeit to someone else and it was up to him to decide how things would end. Looking at the face of Missus Summers her expression mirrored almost perfectly what he'd imagined his mother must've looked like that day.

That was all it took for him to make his decision.

"Miss Harkness, return to Miss Summers and prepare to perform the Avalon ritual," he ordered as he moved to help Missus Summers up off the floor.

"What!? Are you certain, sir?" Harkness asked, knowing full well the gravity of what she was being asked to do.

"Yes. Get to it," he replied adding a bit more authority to his words.

With a nod of obedience the powerful head of the Devon Coven of witches left the kitchen to do as she'd been asked. He, on the other hand, moved with as much care as he could afford to lift Missus Summers off the floor but the woman still gasped with pain as the agitation to her wounds flared up. Walking along the debris covered floors only made matters even more difficult but he managed to arrive in the living room quickly enough. Setting her gently close to her daughter, he prepared in his mind what he was about to say to her knowing that she was among the uninformed when it came to the supernatural. There wasn't time for him to convince her of everything and the ritual required that the giver be completely consensual with regards to what they were sacrificing. In the end he chose to go with the basics and leave out the details that might delay an adequate response.

"Missus Summers… there may be a way we can save your daughter," he said in honestly as he possibly could. "However we would need your help more than anything else."

"What do you mean?" she asked, turning her head to look him in the eye.

"There is a… process… by which we can heal her even when she's as badly injured as this," he replied, not delving into the particulars, "however it will require… a great sacrifice from you. It will require that you sacrifice everything you have. Everything. Are you willing to do so, Joyce Summers?"

For a moment he feared that her injuries were making a clear and concrete decision impossible but then, possibly showing where her daughter got it from, her stubbornness gave her strength no one would have suspected.

"If you can save my daughter… do whatever you need to," Missus Summers stated with more strength and more lucidity than she'd shown since he'd found her. "I will NOT let my daughter die."

"Very well. Miss Harkness?" he said looking to the powerful witch. "Begin."

A nod was all that was needed before the woman went to work, placing the artifacts in their required places. It took some time, even more to draw the necessary symbols on the floor, but none of the steps could be skipped. When he'd gotten old enough to gain access to the Watcher files on the Avalon ritual, he'd felt compelled to read them. He'd even researched the various components in order to increase his understanding of how it all worked. However, since he wasn't a mage or someone with the aptitude for sorcery, that was as far as he'd gotten. What he'd learned there was that every piece of the ritual served a crucial purpose and could not be skipped without dire consequences for all within range of its power.

It was when the chanting began that he knew that they were getting to the serious part and signs of strain began to show on the face of Miss Harkness. He had anticipated this and believed that it was likely due to the lingering seed energy in the air interfering with her manipulation of arcane forces. Even if she was in no danger of dabbling in such forces now, the air around her was saturated with seed energy, creating a sort of interference that prevented a stable connection with the arcane energies. However she was a soldier in this war just like he was in a war without end and so when an obstacle got in her way she didn't run from it.

She overcame it.

He heard Missus Summers gasp as the ritual began to extend its tendrils into her soul and could only imagine what she was feeling at the moment both from her wound and from the ritual. As a white mist began to flow out of her mouth and eyes drifting on unseen winds towards Slayer Summers, he knew they had crossed the halfway point of the ritual. The mist went not to Elisabeth Summers' face but rather was directed to her wounds, splitting up into smaller tendrils as needed in order to reach their targets. Upon contact regeneration that normally would have required weeks for an ordinary person to undergo was happening in seconds as the wounds began to close. The young woman's breathing started again and then rose in strength, the paleness caused by the blood loss began to go away, replaced by a much healthier color. However it wasn't until the last of the mist vanished into Slayer Summers' body that the last signs of life left Missus Summers' body, causing it to go slack and cold.

He knew from previous experience that even with her wounds healed completely it'd take the former Slayer a few hours before she regained consciousness.

Time enough to do one more thing.

One more thing to ensure that a dead woman's last wish would not be in vain.

He just hoped that they had enough magic practitioners to pull it off.

"All teams to the Summers residence," he said as he pressed the transmit button on his radio. "I repeat: this is Quentin Travers to all surviving team members, regroup at the Summers home immediately."

"What are you planning?" Harkness asked, sounding like she'd just completed a vigorous workout.

"Something…gray," he replied as he imagined how the future would unfold, "but necessary."

 _ **Wayne Tower, Gotham City**_

 _ **Thomas Wayne's POV**_

"What exactly are you trying to say, Earle?" he asked from his position at the head of the board table.

"I'm saying that the time has come for you to either live up to your responsibilities as C.E.O. of Wayne Enterprises or step aside in favor of someone who can," William replied from his chair at the table. "For over a decade I and the other members of the board of directors have shown our compassion by allowing you considerable leeway when it came to your search for your son. We've even done favors when necessary. But enough is enough. You're lack of attention to detail almost handed the company over to Roland Dagget on a platter and that can't happen again."

"I admit that I was… careless with regards to Dagget's attempted takeover of the company. However the damage done is nothing we can't come back from within a year," he said, feeling a maelstrom of emotions at the mention of his missing son. "What I do with my own money, not the company's money, is my business and no one else's."

"It's not the responsibility of a C.E.O. to repair his mistakes but to avoid making them altogether," William said, not backing down from his position. "How long before you make a mistake that can't be undone? That jeopardizes all of this?! Do the responsible thing: step down. You won't be locked out completely and if within a year you can prove capable of carrying out your former duties with the needed professionalism, I will be the first person to suggest that you be reinstated."

As much as he wanted to protest this he could not argue against the man's words because they were all too true. Ever since his son had been kidnapped his work had suffered, both in the company and at the hospital. It wasn't that he hadn't tried to live up to his responsibilities at both locations but there was always his personal tragedy buzzing in the back of his head. When he was in the thick of it he could focus on the task at hand but the moment there was a pause, a gap, his thoughts drifted to the usual questions.

Where was Bruce?

Was he still alive?

What was he doing now?

Martha wasn't much better off but with Alfred's tender care she was making it through the years between now and the opening of the monorail. She was actually devoting most of her time to the search for their son, keeping in contact with the private investigator they'd hired while also reaching out to any other sources she'd made during the course of her search. Where once there'd been a wonderful woman and socialite there was now a budding detective slash private investigator learning the skills of the trade through firsthand experience rather than in a classroom. Whenever a lead came up that didn't pan out, instead of getting discouraged she just set aside the failure and hunted for a new one. Still, despite the brave front she put forth, he could tell how each failure chipped off a piece of her soul bit by bit. How long before there was nothing left?

Maybe… maybe Earle was right. Maybe it was time that he stopped running away from reality and accepted the truth.

Bruce was-

Before he could complete the thought a buzz came from the intercom.

"What is it, Miss Stone?" he asked.

"Commissioner Loeb is here to see you, Mister Wayne," Miss Stone replied through the intercom speaker. "He says it's urgent."

"Then please show him in, Miss Stone," he said, being of mixed opinion when it came to the police commissioner.

For the first five years Bruce had been missing Loeb had been true to his word in that he did the best he could to keep him and his wife in the loop regarding the search for their son. As year six began, though, other things forced the commissioner to call less and less until all the man did was turn over the phone numbers of his contacts in the F.B.I.. While they'd been disappointed to lose another ally in the search for their son, they nevertheless understood that the demands of the city had to take priority.

Turning his chair around at the sound of the doors to the boardroom being opened, he saw Miss Stone leading in Loeb, who was dressed in full uniform. Immediately he noticed that the man seemed to be in a very good mood, with a spring in his step that was somewhat uncommon considering the latest news on the city's level of crime.

"What can I do for you, Commissioner Loeb?" he asked in a polite tone of voice.

"It's more what I can do for you, Mister Wayne," Loeb said, a smile breaking out across his face. "We've found him!"

"Found who?" he asked, not quite sure what the man was referring to.

"Your son," Loeb replied, taking hold of his shoulders. "We found Bruce."

The world stood still for a moment as his mind came to a crashing halt at those three words and the world fell away, leaving him in a metaphorical void. Then, as his senses came back to him, question after question was fired off inside his mind but there was one that took priority.

"Where?" he asked as he got out of his seat.

"A little town called Sunnydale in California," Loeb replied, going all business with the facts. "You might've heard that the town suffered a massive quake a few days ago that pretty much destroyed everything. Emergency services swooped in and have been rescuing trapped civilians and recovering bodies ever since. Don't worry, Bruce was one of the former."

He wanted to know more but a screech of a chair scraping up against the floor reminded him where he was and what he needed to tie up before he could focus on what really mattered.

"William… given this news, would it be okay if we tabled the 'issue' for the time being?" he asked, turning to the man who'd been pushing for his removal from the position of C.E.O.

"O-of course, Mister Wayne," Earle said, sounding half as floored as he felt by the news. "I think we can…delay making a decision for a month or two. Go get your son."

"Thank you," he said, genuinely as he began to make his way towards the door. "Commissioner, if you'd come with me I have a few more questions for you."

Seeing Loeb nod in agreement the two of them left the boardroom, heading for the nearest elevator so that they could get down to the lobby.

"How is he? Is he okay?" he asked as soon as the elevator doors closed.

"A few bumps and bruises but he got off light compared to others," Loeb replied as they waited to hit the ground floor. "Docs say he's woken up a few times but wasn't entirely coherent before nodding off again. They can't find anything medically that'd cause it so they think it's psychological."

Not surprising considering the images he'd seen broadcast on the news of what was left of the town. The place looked like it'd been hit by the mother of all earthquakes, or someone had employed a healthy amount of explosives in the sewer system. To have gone through an event like that in combination with his abduction years ago… he was already making a list of qualified therapists to help Bruce recover.

Taking out his cellphone, he immediately called the hanger where his private jet rested.

"Mister Stewart, get the jet fueled and ready to take off ASAP. We're taking a trip to California and I want to be in the air two minutes after getting there. Make it happen."

After he got confirmation that the plane would be ready he ended the call.

"Has my wife been informed?" he asked, moving on to the next matter that needed immediate tending to.

"I sent one of my best men to pick her up from the mansion," Loeb replied when the elevator doors opened. "He won't tell her about Bruce. I figured that she deserved to hear it straight from you rather than from one of my boys."

"Good. Have him take her to the Wayne Enterprises airport," he said as they proceeded to the front doors, since he could see the car that presumably brought Loeb to the building. "We can meet there and I'll explain everything to her."

"Consider it done," Loeb said with a nod before reaching for his own cell.

Before long they were coasting along the streets, navigating them to the airport, leaving him with his thoughts as the scenery passed by on the other side of the window. His mind was on the future, how with only a couple of words everything had changed, and he wondered what else would change in the coming months. As a doctor he had no doubts that Bruce would take up most of his time as he helped with his son's recovery from whatever ordeal he'd been through. After that… after that he and his wife would have one helluva bit of catching up to do to learn what sort of person their son had become without them. Seeing as how he'd grown up in a small town called Sunnydale, he'd like to think that it'd been the simple life of a normal middle class American citizen. However, without knowing more about Sunnydale and what it was like before the disaster, that was more like wishful thinking than the truth.

The truth could be very different and very terrible.

 _Don't jump to conclusions,_ he thought trying to suppress the worst case scenarios that were appearing in his mind. _Wait until you actually see him. Get him home._

It was along that train of thought that he realized something: when word got out that Bruce Wayne had been found and was still alive it'd be a media frenzy. They'd try to get as many snapshots and comments and interviews as possible. He knew how hard that was when you'd gotten used to it so he could only imagine how hard it'd be for Bruce when facing it for the first time. Now he wouldn't have the shield of his youth to keep the newshounds back. He'd have to hire a security company and have them on the grounds of Wayne Manor to keep the press out, with their best agent being assigned to Bruce specifically. While he would like for it to be temporary, he NEVER wanted to lose his son again. Whoever had orchestrated Bruce's kidnapping might try again once word got out that he'd returned home and, considering the reputation of the one who'd done it, his son would be in constant danger.

Background checks that would have him labeled paranoid would be mandatory and he'd check with his contacts in the F.B.I. to make sure they had the skills to keep his son safe.

Seeing the airport in the distance getting closer, he prepared himself for what would most likely be a VERY emotional talk with his wife, since she wasn't quite as good at controlling her emotions as he was.

Hopefully the five hour flight from Gotham to California would give her time to get a grip on those emotions because he doubted greeting their son in an emotionally distraught state would make for a good family reunion.

 _ **Oxnard General Hospital, California**_

 _ **Xander's POV**_

"Uuuhhh…uunnhhh…" he mumbled as the blackness of unconsciousness receded and sensory input began to fill his mind.

"Doctor! He's waking up again!" a woman said through the lessening fog that felt like it'd held his mind in an iron grip up until now.

As the sensory input became clearer he felt the familiar itch of hospital bed sheets as well as the unpleasant smell of cleaning fluids commonly used to keep such places clean. A feeling of distaste echoed inside of him since he'd never been all that fond of hospitals, even though he'd frequented Sunnydale's hospital often enough thanks to Tony Harris' temper tantrums. Still there wasn't much he could do about it since based on how he felt he doubted that he'd be able to crawl much less walk out the front door. For the time being he'd have to be content with opening his eyes and finding out what happened.

He… remembered leaving the library to head for Joyce's house. He remembered heading down the street when a red light caught his attention, causing him to turn around and look back the way he'd come. He saw… something… that reminded him of a firework rising up into the air before increasing the light it was emitting a hundredfold. After that… nothing except a vague sensation of… change.

 _Why do I suddenly get the feeling that I really don't want to open my eyes?_ he thought before doing precisely that against his better judgment.

He winced a bit as his eyes reacted to the lights in the ceiling but they adjusted and he looked about only to confirm that, yes, he was in a hospital room complete with curtains for every bed as well as heart monitors. Looking about without moving anything other than his head he could see other beds with occupants that looked to be in pretty bad shape judging from the bandages and casts they had. He could only presume that whatever the not-firework had done it'd been a destructive force big enough to put these people here.

Either that or there was major traffic accident near Sunnydale.

Bracing himself, he tried pushing himself up into a sitting position and, while he accomplished it, his body protested like he'd very recently put it through a serious workout. Aches, sores and sensations that had him thinking lying back down might be a good idea but his desire to find out what his current situation was proved stronger. Once his sitting was stable he looked about to see what else he could learn and immediately found discrepancies that didn't match with his memory of Sunnydale Hospital. The equipment looked a lot more current, or at least in keeping with what he'd seen in the few hospital dramas Willow had made him watch in the past. While not stuck in the stone ages, he knew from some of the griping that the doctors and nurses did at Sunnydale Hospital that it was rare for them to get a new piece of equipment. They often had to call in repair technicians or even science nerds from the local UCCS to do on the spot repairs and quick fixes. Only when some piece of machinery was completely unsalvageable did they ever get a replacement and usually it was only a few years ahead of the one that was now only good as a paperweight.

So unless he got bumped up to the VIP wing of the hospital, he wasn't at Sunnydale Hospital.

"Good to see you're awake, young man!" a man's voice said, causing him to turn his head and find a man in a doctor's coat entering the room. "You had us worried a bit. You kept fading in and out of consciousness."

"Sounds like what my teachers said about my attention span," he said, trying to crack a joke through his dry throat.

"Yes, well, you do seem stronger than the last time you woke up, so I'll take that as a positive sign," the doctor said before taking out a penlight for the predictable eye check. "Follow the light if you please. Yes… very good… a little more. Good."

"What happened?" he asked, hoping to get some blanks filled in.

"Well, Mister Wayne, YOU are a very lucky young man," the doctor said as he picked up the chart at the foot of the bed. "Given the severity of the quake and the state of Sunnydale, it could've been a great deal worse."

"Quake? State of Sunnydale?" he asked, completely driving by the fact that the doctor had gotten his last name wrong.

If something had happened to Sunnydale then it was likely that the man was seeing dozens of patients and had just misspoken.

"Guess you were knocked unconscious before the real fireworks hit," the doctor said as he put the chart back in its slot. "Sunnydale was hit with a massive earthquake, estimated to be around an eight on the Richter scale, demolishing some buildings while severely damaging others. A… great many people died and more were hospitalized. I'm told that every major hospital within an hour's drive of Sunnydale has been filled to capacity."

"I've got to go!" he said, ignoring his physical state in favor of seeing to his friends. "Willow… need to find her… and… and-"

He knew that there was someone else he needed to find in order to make sure they were okay but his mind… stalled… when he tried to come up with a name or a face. It resolved itself a handful of seconds later when the image of a girl his age appeared in his mind with the name 'Elisabeth Lance'. His mind was a little hazy on the details of their relationship but one thing that rang loud and clear was that he cared about her and saw her as a friend.

"Whoa, whoa, easy there, son!" the doctor said, moving to prevent him from getting out of the bed. "You might be better but you're still recovering. If you have some friends you're worried about give me their names and I'll ask around. With any luck they managed to make it through the quake in as good a shape as you, Bruce."

"Why're you calling me Bruce?" he asked, finally addressing the error the doc was making with his name. "My name's Xander Harris."

This got him a weird look from the doctor, like he hadn't been expecting this development, but the man proved to be as mentally resilient as he was. The man seemed to debate for a time what to do next but, with a barely visible shrug, he apparently made his decision.

"That may have been the name you've lived by for the past thirteen years but it's not your birth name. I don't know the whole story but when you were found in Sunnydale they couldn't find any identification on you so they ran your fingerprints through the system," the doctor said, sounding completely convinced of what he was saying. "They came back as belonging to Bruce Wayne not Xander Harrris."

"Well then there's one helluva bug in the fingerprint database because I know who I am!" he exclaimed as this news coupled with what'd apparently happened to Sunnydale had him a LITTLE on edge.

"Perhaps, but when your prints came back as Bruce Wayne's we received a call from an agent of the F.B.I. asking that blood samples be taken for DNA testing. Apparently Thomas and Martha Wayne went to such great lengths to find their kidnapped son that they had hair from a brush and his entire medical record added to the search criteria. This way if something got in the way of getting reliable prints there'd be another way to positively identify their son. The results haven't come back yet but they should be finished in the next day or so."

"Great! Then when they come back negative I can get on with my life," he said, shaking his head at the crazy talk the doc was spouting.

"Perhaps. Nevertheless, if you could tell me the names of your friends I can ask around to see if I can find them," the doctor said, apparently deciding to back off for the time being.

"Their names are Willow Rosenberg and… Elizabeth Lance," he said, hoping that the doc would be able to tell him some good news quick.

It'd go a long way to getting rid of the little nagging feeling he had in the back of his head that something was amiss, like someone who entered their room and could sense that that something was off without even looking. Whether it turned out to be something as inconsequential as a book poking out an inch from the rest on the shelf or something big like a prized possession missing, he'd have to wait and see. Maybe when he had a moment to himself, after everything went back to normal, he could take some time to ponder it more, but for now putting his life back together took priority.

He was essentially homeless if Sunnydale was in as much shambles as the doc was implying.

 _ **Oxnard International Airport**_

 _ **Thomas Wayne's POV**_

Who knew one simple trip from New Jersey to California could take so long?

Then again perhaps it was just his eagerness to get to his son's side that made the trip seem so long. After so many years of fruitless searching they finally had their son with far more promising information than anything the private investigator had managed to turn up since the man had been hired. Before all they'd gotten were snapshots of children and young men that bore a resemblance to Bruce or the images that the aging software had come up with. A few rumors of a man that shared many of the characteristics of the man who'd taken Bruce from him on the monorail.

NOW… now they had fingerprints and, as of half an hour ago via a call from his F.B.I. source, a positive DNA match with the hair samples he'd provided the Bureau with to help in their search.

There was now no doubt in his mind that their son was alive and waiting for them.

Getting into the car that'd been ordered to be waiting for them he didn't hesitate to tell the driver which hospital to go to and that there'd be a 'bonus' for him if he managed to get there sooner rather than later. After a few minutes of the man managing to skillfully navigate the streets at a speed just at the limit, he let his attention slide over to his wife. He could tell that she was running thought after thought through her mind with energy that, if harnessed, probably could power all of Gotham City for a year. As much as he felt the same, he needed her to calm down or else she'd likely come off as a raving madwoman.

"Calm down, Martha," he said as he placed a comforting hand on hers. "We found him. We know where he is. We'll be a family again soon."

"How can you say that?" Martha said, her voice mirroring the emotions he could see on her face. "He's been gone for YEARS! Who knows what's been done to him? How he's changed?"

"Well, I hardly think he's been turned into some sort of criminal mastermind based out of a sleepy town called Sunnydale," he said with a humorous smile on her face. "He probably led a sleepy and quiet life of your garden variety teenager up until now. He's our SON. There's no way he'd turn into something bad."

"But we've missed so much," she said in a quiet and fragile voice.

"And we'll make up for it. From this day forward we will get to know the young man our son's become and we will make up for lost time," he said with a strength that could not be called false. "We'll be a family again and this time NO ONE is going to take him from us again."

"Damn right!" she said as strength mirroring his. "If anyone tries I will claw their eyes out!"

"Only after I beat them into the nearest I.C.U.," he said with a mix of conviction and humor.

He might be a doctor and share the same beliefs that any self-respecting doctor held dear, but when it came to his family the chains weren't quite so strong. He'd lost his son once to the darkness that plagued Gotham City and he would not let that happen again under any circumstances, even if it meant breaking his Hippocratic Oath. It wouldn't be easy for him but, even if it resulted in him getting weeks' worth of nightmares, he'd do it in order to keep his family safe.

Nothing was more precious to him.

"Now remember when we go into the hospital you need to stay calm," he said, getting to the heart of the matter. "I know you want nothing more than to sprint over to Bruce, wrap your arms around him and babble about how much you love him and missed him. Just remember that… it's been a long time for him and I don't know about you but I can barely remember my life at four years old."

"You're saying he won't remember us?" she asked, sounding like it'd break her heart.

"He won't remember MUCH about us," he replied, making sure to emphasize that their son would remember something. "I can still remember a Christmas I had with my parents at that age and the present I got. I can vaguely remember what we did that summer. Bruce is going to have the same issue. All that matters now is the future we're going to be creating with our son and in order to do that we need to get to know him."

She nodded in agreement before going silent, looking out the car window at the passing scenery.

It took them a little over twenty minutes for them to reach the hospital but once they were inside they went straight to the nurse station to find out precisely what room his son was in.

"We've been expecting you, Mister Wayne," the nurse said, a good smile on her face. "I'll call down Doctor Cranston, the doctor assigned to your son, and he can take you up."

"Of course," he said with a nod even though this slight delay caused a rise in anger within him. He had waited this long for his son; he could wait a few more minutes.

It took five before he spotted a dark haired man coming towards him in a doctor's coat looking to be in his late forties or early fifties. Once the man was close enough for the nametag to be legible it was confirmed that the man was Doctor Cranston and so the anger dissipated quickly.

"Mister and Missus Wayne! I'm honored to meat such distinguished individuals such as yourselves," Doctor Cranston said with the sort of smile all doctors were trained to give. "If you follow me I'll take you to your son."

"How is he?" Martha asked as they proceeded to the elevator.

"He's recovering nicely. Not that he'd suffered any serious injuries to begin with but physically I see no reason to keep him here past today," Doctor Cranston replied with optimism.

"You said he's fine physically," he said, sensing the 'but' in the man's voice. "What about mentally?"

"Mentally… mentally he's fine but his earlier reactions when he temporarily regained consciousness were not what we originally thought," Cranston replied somewhat reluctantly. "It's looking more and more that if he has any memory of who he once was it's more subconscious than conscious at the moment. He insists that we have the wrong person, that he's Alexander Harris of Sunnydale even though both fingerprints and DNA say otherwise."

"Has he been… brainwashed?" Martha asked, sounding like she didn't like what she was hearing.

"While I am not an expert on such things I don't believe so," Doctor Cranston replied as the elevator car began to rise. "It's more likely that the trauma of his abduction coupled with his relocation caused him to suppress everything attached to it, including his true identity. Add to that more than twelve years living a different life and answering only to the name Xander Harris and it won't be easy to bring the truth back to the surface."

"We'll make the time," he said, refusing to retreat from the obstacle placed before him.

A short while later the elevator doors opened and they exited into the hallway, following the doctor as he led the way down it. They got no more than two dozen steps down the hallway before the crashing sound of breaking glass broke the silence and, judging by how the doctor broke into a run, it meant something important had happened. Fearing the worst he too began to run, his wife falling in behind him as they made their way to a room three doors down from where they'd been. Once inside they found a room with one hospital bed empty but they soon shifted their focus to an open door that presumably led to the room's bathroom. Watching as the doctor opened it up wider, they soon beheld a young man with black hair in a hospital gown looking into a mirror and, judging from the shattered glass fragments on the floor, the noise was now explained.

"Bruce?" he gasped in inquiry before his mind had a chance to come up with something more eloquent.

This caused the young man to turn around and the face he beheld was both familiar and alien for, while he could see bits of the boy his son had once been, there was a decided amount of differences. The passage of time had washed aside the childhood innocence and replaced it with a teenager of seventeen years and, at the moment, that teenager looked as though he'd just been hit in the forehead with a two by four. One emotion after another crossed his son's face, each one being VERY potent, but it was what he saw in the eyes at the last moment that meant the most to him.

Recognition.

It only lasted for a second or two but the fact that it manifested at all meant the world to him because it meant there was a GOOD chance that the boy he once knew could be resurrected if only in part.

"Um… sorry about the glass…" Bruce said, sounding like he was trying to cover up what was really bothering him. "Just looked in the mirror and didn't recognize who was looking back for a moment. Startled me."

"Understandable. You've been through a lot," Doctor Cranston said, trying to keep things casual. "Allow me to introduce Thomas and Martha Wayne."

"The people you say are my parents. Right," Bruce said seemingly coming closer to regaining his composure. "I'm pretty sure I'd remember them if that were true. Unfortunately the only people filling those slots don't deserve to be called by those titles."

His mind blanked at what that could mean then fear and anger followed as possibilities filled his mind about what the people who'd raised his boy since the abduction might've done. If his worst dreams wound up being the truth… he would do all he could to help his son recover and he would make sure that the 'foster parents' were prosecuted to the full extent of the law.

The fact that they weren't powerful enough to afford fancy lawyers, crooked or otherwise, would make sure that happened.

"I know this is hard for you to accept… Xander, but the DNA tests are conclusive, as are the fingerprint results," Doctor Cranston said, trying not to sound confrontational. "Science doesn't lie."

"With all due respect, doc, science might not lie but the people using it can and, with the right reasons, do," Bruce said with a bit of an edge to his tone. "Give me one good reason why I should believe any of this just because you say so."

"You shouldn't. My experiences in Gotham City have taught me quite a bit over the years," he said, deciding to try a new tactic. "One thing I've learned quite well: in this day and age just about anything can be faked, orchestrated or taken out of context. If you want the truth you need to find it yourself."

This seemed to have the desired effect since the look of denial on his son's face dimmed somewhat in the face of his statement not supporting what the doctor was trying to hammer home. Now he had to build on this to guide his son to the truth but in such a way so as to ensure that he'd come across the truth logically. Once that happened… he'd have to wait and see how Bruce reacted at that point.

"I only ask that you return to Gotham with us and give us a chance to make our case beyond DNA tests and fingerprints," he said before continuing to the next part. "Give us one week of your time. One week to prove to you that you're our son. If you're not convinced by then, you can go wherever you want on my dime. I'll even contribute some starter money so you can start a new life somewhere. Do we have a deal?"

He could see the odds being debated inside Bruce's head but in the end his son either had supreme faith in what he believed to be the truth or was willing to give the situation the benefit of a doubt.

"Fine. But only after I make sure Willow Rosenberg and Elisabeth Lance are okay," Bruce replied with a tone that told everyone this was nonnegotiable.

"Of course. You've made it clear how important they are to you." Doctor Cranston said with a positive nod of his head. "If you'll grab a housecoat I can take you to them. Luckily they were evacuated from Sunnydale to the same hospital as you."

"Then let's get going," Bruce said, walking over to the closet to get the housecoats all hospitals had on hand for their patients. "I've waited long enough."


	4. The End Of The Old, The Start Of The New

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the copyrighted material contained herein. They are the rightful property of their respective creators and/or associated companies. I make no profit from this whatsoever and I have no intention of changing this at any point in the future. I write because it's fun and because there are those who enjoy reading my work. Therefore I would appreciate it if no legal action were taken against me because I can promise you that what you get from me won't cover even a quarter of your legal fees.

 _ **Another Room, Oxnard General Hospital**_

 _It's amazing what a few days of rest will do for you,_ she thought as she finished getting dressed in the clothes parents had brought. _My head's finally cleared up._

When she'd first woken up in the hospital her mind felt like her head had been turned into the thickest hot fudge sauce, making thinking a bit of a chore. As the days went by things got easier and, surprisingly, the visits from her parents helped speed things up for some reason. Dad made lame jokes that were so bad they were funny. Mom fretted over her like always and promised that they'd all go to their favorite restaurant once she got discharged from hospital. It was safe to say that she'd have two reasons to be glad about being discharged: one was leaving a place where the food was cruel and unusual punishment and the other was getting to eat some of the best food EVER.

It almost made up for the fact that Sunnydale was gone and so were so many people that she'd known, but at least Xander and Willow were still alive. Doctor Cranston had told her that her first day awake and she'd been overjoyed to know that they hadn't been killed in the quake. She'd still been a little shaky then so she hadn't been able to go and see them. In fact now that she was on the verge of being discharged the doc had agreed to let her go visit them especially since, according to the older man, Xander was about to be discharged as well. She'd only get a couple of minutes with them since her parents were due to pick her up in twenty but it'd be enough until they got settled someplace else with an address for each of them. Then they could send letters to each other and arrange visits, assuming they didn't wind up moving to the same city.

 _Maybe I can ask them where they'll be going and try to convince mom and dad to move there too. After all, it's not like they've got another place in mind. With how they were talking any place was good so long as both of them could find a job and I can finish high school._

Hearing the door open, she saw a young man enter along with Doctor Crantson and two adults she didn't know. For a minute she thought maybe they were here to see one of her 'roommates' but they kept moving straight to her without a pause. The look of puzzlement must've been pretty plain on her face but it was when the guy her own age grinned in a way she recognized all too well. The problem was that the rest of the face didn't even come close to matching the person the grin belonged to and the measurements didn't match either.

"What's the matter, L.L.?" the young man asked still wearing that insufferable grin. "Run out of fresh material? I thought you always had a quip at the ready."

There was only one person who called her L.L…

"Xander?" she asked, having great difficulty reconciling the guy she remembered and the one standing before her now.

"Yep. I know the whole facelift, liposuction and stuff is seriously off the wall but it's still me," Xander said, sounding about as wierded out about his new looks as she was.

"Well… good. And these people are?" she asked, hoping to move onto a topic that she hoped was safer.

"My name is Thomas and this is my wife Martha," the older man said with a polite smile on his face. "We… had a matter to discuss with Xander but he wanted to see you and Willow before dealing with it."

"Well, since I've been… seen… so let's go see Willow," she said, getting answers that didn't really clarify much. "I'm sure she'll be glad to see us."

"Yes, I'm sure she will be," Doctor Cranston said, sounding oddly unenthusiastic. "This way."

Following the doctor, she tried for half a minute to figure out why his mood had turned dead but let it slide from her grasp a moment later, deciding that it couldn't be too important. He was probably just remembering some of the other patients from the 'Sunnydale Disaster' as people were calling it, since many of them were in pretty bad shape. Many more had died, with Doctor Cranston being the one trying to save their lives only to fail due to the limits of modern medicine or his own skill. Having that happen a handful of times during the course of a career was bad enough but having it happen multiple times over the course of a week or more… that was something else entirely. It'd be enough to drag anyone's spirits down.

The walk was a bit longer than she'd been expecting but she guessed with the hospital filled to capacity the doctor couldn't reserve rooms to allow friends to stay together. It wasn't until then that she noticed the direction signs indicated that they were going to where the more seriously injured patients were treated. It didn't mesh with what she'd been told because Doctor Cranston had said that Willow was alive and okay, so her earlier puzzlement returned.

It was only when they arrived at what looked to be an observation window for a room that her puzzlement turned to dread.

That dread was well founded; inside the room was one Willow Rosenberg hooked up to machines that looked like they were breathing for her and feeding her nutrients through tubes attached to her wrist and upper arm. The pulse monitor showed that her heart was beating normally and she wasn't seeing the usual things that hospital dramas used to indicate trouble, so that was a good thing. However she wanted the truth and she wanted it now.

"What happened to her?" she asked, placing one hand on the glass window.

"Simply put: we don't know," Doctor Cranston replied, running his fingers through his hair. "While it was true that she suffered some injuries as a result of the quake, a more in depth examination indicates that it is not responsible for her current state. Something… some form of energy we haven't been able to identify overloaded her nervous system almost to the point of burning it out. According to paramedics she was barely alive when they found her and if we hadn't put her on life support as soon as she arrived, she'd have died."

"How bad is she?" Thomas asked, sounding more professional than before.

"Bad. For now life support is the only thing keeping her alive," Cranston replied, turning fully to face them. "There are… signs… that it might be possible for her to recover but nothing for certain. I'm afraid with the resources available to me there's not much more I can do."

"Fortunately I have a great deal more resources at my disposal," Thomas said with purpose in his tone. "If you can prep her to be moved I'll have my people get ready for her. She'll get the very best of care and I'll put the best doctors I have to work to find a way to heal her. I promise."

"'My people'? Just who are you?" she asked, not in the mood to beat around the bush. "And don't feed me that 'Thomas and Martha' stuff again."

"My full name is Thomas Wayne and this is my wife Martha," the man said after only a moment's hesitation. "I am a doctor and the C.E.O. of Wayne Enterprises."

"…Oh."

Only someone living in a cave, dining on bugs for every meal, wouldn't know about the Wayne family as well as the corporate empire bearing their name. It raised no end of questions about what sort of business they might have with Xander but it also proved to be the best chance Willow had of recovering. No common doctor was going to be able to figure out a way to wake her up but those with the budget and tech of Wayne Enterprises just might.

"If you can help her, heal her, then you'll have earned beaucoup points with me whether your story turns out to be true or not," Xander said with hope in his voice.

"I swore an oath when I became a doctor to help the sick and the injured," Thomas Wayne said with conviction. "Regardless of what you decide at the end of the week, I will still do everything in my power to see Willow healthy again."

"Doc Cranston? Get the ball rolling," Xander ordered with a pseudo air of command.

With that the doctor walked away to begin preparing Willow for travel and, just as she was about to say more, footsteps caused her to turn around to see her parents approaching. Evidently twenty minutes had gone by and some helpful nurse or orderly had told them where they could find her.

"I guess it's time for me to go," she said, turning back to Xander. "I'll send you a letter to let you know where me and my parents have settled down. Keep in touch?"

"You'll be sick of all the letters I'll send you by the time I'm done," Xander replied with a lopsided grin that was SO his trademark, "See you around, L.L."

"See you around, Xander," she said before fully turning away and walking towards her approaching parents.

With people like the Wayne's interested in helping Xander, she could rest easy knowing he wouldn't be left to fend for himself. It'd be hard not being to call him over for movie night, seeing as how she doubted her parents would be interested in moving to Gotham City, but she was sure if she saved up she'd be able to vacation there with him for a little while during the summer. Off the top of her head she figured they'd probably have all of them move to Starling City to be with her Uncle Quentin and his family. Not a bad thing since she liked her cousins Laurel and Sara but it'd still mean being the newbie again in a place where no one knew her.

 _It's never easy being the new girl in town,_ she thought imagining the trials ahead of her. _But if there's one person who can do it all over again, it'll be me._

 _ **Wayne Enterprises Private Jet, Airborne**_

 _ **Xander's POV**_

 _What the hell have I gotten myself into this time?_ he asked himself even as he chanced a glance out the window of the private jet he was flying in.

It'd been a question he'd asked himself ever since he'd gone to the bathroom back in the Los Angeles hospital only to find a stranger's face looking back at him in the mirror. That'd been the real reason why he'd accidently knocked the glass of the edge of the sink to the floor, causing it to shatter and he still hadn't gotten over it. Even looking out the window he could see the faint reflection of his face in it and it was nothing like what he'd called his own over the last sixteen years. It'd taken him until they were boarding the plane before his thoughts returned to his changes but even thinking on it for an hour hadn't let him come up with a rational explanation. Had he been surgically altered? Unlikely since it'd have taken weeks before his face would've gone back to normal, with no visible signs that anything had been done. He'd checked the calendar on the wall of hospital before they'd left and it'd been less than two weeks since the night the League of Shadows had attacked Sunnydale.

Magic?

Maybe, but nothing he'd heard about the seed of yin implied that it had the ability to alter a person's body with precision. If it'd turned him into gruesome victim from some sci-fi horror movie then he could safely blame the seed but to change his body to this degree implied a set list of instructions. Had a mage for some reason turned him into something that made the Wayne family think he was their missing son? If that was the case then the motive could be any one of a number of things, ranging from having him be a little sleeper assassin to a source of cash that no one would look twice at. Maybe the person responsible thought that if he got used to the rich life and enjoyed it that he'd do anything to keep it so a threat to be turned back into plain old Xander Harris would make him compliant. Whatever the reason it didn't change the fact that he needed to learn more before he could do anything to counter the potential badness.

Then… then there was one possibility that he didn't want to think about because of all the implications attached to it.

What if Thomas and Martha Wayne were right? What if he WAS born Bruce Wayne, HAD been kidnapped as a kid and somehow had been TURNED into Xander Harris before being dumped into Tony and Jessica's lap?

 _Bullshit!_ He shook his head. _I know who I am!_

He wasn't unsympathetic with what the Wayne family was going through because to lose someone you cared about and then believe you've found them again was a big deal. If it'd happened to him, he would grab onto the formerly lost person with both hands and never let go, even on pain of death. Still, he had to make them see the truth because it'd be wrong to let them keep clinging to their delusion and to take advantage of them for his personal benefit. The only way he'd be able to snap them out of it though would be to let them perform their tests and make their efforts at convincing so he could shoot down them all one by one. Hopefully by the end they'd both realize and accept the truth about who he was and who he wasn't with minimal pain.

It didn't mean that he wouldn't take Thomas up on his offer of enough money to keep himself financially afloat until he could get a job, though. With Sunnydale reduced to ruins he had neither his savings or his possessions, so he was days away from being made into a homeless person living out of a cardboard box and dumpster diving behind restaurants for food. Sure, he could try to hitchhike to wherever L.L. was and ask to be allowed to crash with her family until he could support himself but that'd take money, too. At least enough for a bus ticket to wherever they planned on settling down, so hopefully he'd at least be able to get that out of the Waynes before parting company with them.

"Mister and Missus Wayne, we'll be landing at Gotham Airport in ten minutes," came the pilot's voice over the jet's intercom.

"Thank you, Tristan," Thomas Wayne said through an intercom in his chair.

"Soooo… what's first on the agenda?" he asked, wondering what sort of hurdles they'd send his way in their efforts to convince him that he was their long lost son.

"Well, if we're lucky we're going to go straight to Wayne Manor so you can get settled in," Thomas replied as he began packing the briefcase he'd been working out of. "Then we'll show you around the mansion in the hopes of jogging a few memories."

"And if we're unlucky?" he asked with a bit of concern.

"We'll still be going to Wayne Manor but there's a chance that we might have to make our way through the Gotham City press corps in the process." Thomas replied with a bit of wariness about what he was about to reveal. "Martha and I left in a hurry once we found out where you were. There's no way at all that the press missed that and, unless they managed to dig up quite a bit of information about you on their own, there's likely a small crowd of reporters waiting for us at every entrance or exit the airport has. It's not every day the kidnapped son of Thomas and Martha Wayne returns to Gotham City."

"Great," he growled, the idea of being hounded by the press rubbing him the wrong way. "I'm assuming that security at Wayne Manor is good enough to keep them out?"

"Normally I rely just on security cameras, motion sensors and contact plates on every window. No security guards," Thomas replied as the sound of the engines changed, indicating their descent had begun., "However given how some people might react to the return of Bruce Wayne, in particular the ones responsible for his abduction, I've already contacted several private security firms to make sure nothing happens to you."

"Well, hopefully when everything's cleared up all our lives can go back to normal," he said, reassured a bit that men and women in suits would be patrolling the manor grounds.

"Even if… you turn out to be right, Xander, I think it's going to be a good deal of time before the commotion dies down." Thomas said, sounding like he didn't want to be wrong.

Not surprising since, when it came to things that mattered to him, he didn't want to be wrong either.

"So I'll shave my head, grow a beard and work on my Spanish accent," he said, only half serious about what he was saying. "Sooner or later the newshounds will find something else to write about."

"They are pretty fickle," Thomas admitted with a small smile. "Hopefully something will happen that's bigger news than Bruce Wayne."

It was only a short while before the private jet touched down, then taxied to a hanger where a limo was waiting for them with a grey haired man in his mid-sixties wearing a driver outfit. He waited for the pilot to give the all clear before unbuckling his seatbelt and heading for the door, the Waynes following closely behind. Trotting down the door turned stairs he headed for the limo and watched as a look of recognition as well as the look someone gave after being reunited with a long lost friend. He had a feeling he was going to be getting a lot of that in the next week from anyone and everyone who ever knew Bruce Wayne.

Wonderful.

"Welcome back to Gotham City Mister Wayne, Missus Wayne, young master Wayne," the older man said with an English accent.

He flinched at that and not just because there was now another person determined to prove or believe that he was the returned Bruce Wayne, but also because he inexplicably felt a feeling of familiarity like he knew someone else with the same kind of accent. The feeling went away almost as quickly as it came but it still left him feeling a little off and he could tell that the driver had noticed the change in his expression.

"Is something wrong, Master Wayne?" the driver asked, sounding concerned.

"I'm… fine. It's just going to be my first time riding in a limo," he replied, trying to put forth something reasonable. "Blue collar all the way here."

"Well I shall do my best to make it both enjoyable as well as memorable," the driver said with a reassuring smile as he opened one of the back passenger doors.

As they all loaded into the limo he had to admit that, mistakes about his identity aside, it was WAY cool to be riding in a top of the line limo. Looking at all the modern conveniences and gadgets incorporated to give the passengers a good time, it certainly shed new light one the lifestyles of the rich. Slowly but surely they drove out of the hanger and made their way towards the exit closest to the street that'd get them presumably to Wayne Manor quickest. It was a little while before they reached it that he found out that Thomas was right about the reporters because there had to be at least twenty from newspapers, TV stations and maybe even radio vans clustered there. Showing experience in such matters the driver advanced slowly on the exit so as not to accidentally hurt someone or run them over.

"Do you wish to make a statement, Mister Wayne?" the driver asked through the window into the front seat.

"No, Alfred. For now we're going to keep a low profile," Thomas replied with a negative shake of his head. "WHEN… we have something to say to the press, we'll tell them then."

"Very good, sir," Alfred said as he continued to advance, parting the crowd of reporters like the Red Sea.

It didn't take long for them to make it through but the entire time there were yelled questions, hands on the windows and flashes from cameras, no doubt hoping to catch something through the tinted limo windows. Hopefully all they'd get would be a vague outline of him and maybe the few spots the sunlight hit certain contours of his face.

 _With a little luck I can get through this entire trip without anyone getting a good look at me,_ he thought with a silent prayer to those above. _That way when I part company with the Wayne's I won't have to go all man of a thousand faces just to get some peace and quiet._

Then he realized what he'd just done.

 _ **Inside Wayne Manor**_

 _ **Thomas Wayne's POV**_

"Welcome to Wayne Manor, Xander," he said as the front gates to the property opened to admit the limo.

"It's… big," Xander said, looking at the place that'd been home to six generations of the Wayne family and hopefully would house many more.

"Well my family has been around for quite some time so we needed someplace to store all the possessions we've acquired over the years," he said as the limo pulled up in front of the mansion doors. "Besides, what's the point of being rich if you can't have your own mansion?"

"True. That is the stereotype," Xander said as he got out of the car.

This wasn't the sort of reaction he'd been hoping for but perhaps he'd been a little too optimistic about what it'd take to bring Bruce's childhood memories to the surface. It was just so hard to be standing next to his long lost son and not have the young man acknowledge that connection with him and Martha. Rationally he knew it was only logical since his son had spent more than a decade living as someone else. BELIEVING he was someone else. However, emotions were anything BUT rational so he couldn't help but feel disappointment and sadness at the failure but if there was one thing he had in spades was resolve. He wouldn't have been able to make it this far, keep himself from breaking, if he didn't have the resolve strong enough to keep forging ahead. Now… now was the time for his big payoff and it was getting extremely difficult to be patient so that he could march those final steps. He KNEW that 'Xander' was his son because science said he was and because there were enough facial similarities to members of the Wayne family to make it a lock in his mind.

Turning to look at Martha, he could see that she felt the same way but with a reassuring look the two of them followed Bruce out of the limo.

"Well, it's a bit late for supper but I'm sure Alfred wouldn't mind preparing a meal for us." he said, turning to his longtime butler and friend. "Would you, Alfred?"

"Of course not, sir," Alfred said as the group proceeded up the steps to the front door. "Dinner shall be ready in a little over an hour."

"We can always count on you to be there for us," he said with a smile born of reaffirmation of his decision to choose Alfred to be the butler of the Wayne family.

"Always," Alfred said in a way that implied he was smiling as well.

Entering the manor, he watched Bruce carefully to see if any look of recognition or really any reaction at all happened that might indicate some sort of impact had been had. If there was any place that would jog his son's memory and get him to accept the truth, it would be the manor, with all of its familiar sights and smells. He watched as Bruce looked about but from what he could tell it wasn't all that different from most middle class people who visited the manor for the first time. He was somewhat disappointed but still held hope that places like Bruce's bedroom and perhaps his favorite dishes prepared by Alfred would trigger the reaction he desired. If that failed he'd arrange a meeting with Rachel since surely interaction with a childhood friend would resonate with the desired memories.

"Alfred will show you to your room and, once you're settled, we'll show you around the mansion," he said, knowing that some time alone with Martha could be used to strategize their next move in private.

He waited a full five minutes after Alfred and Bruce walked out of sight before turning to his wife, who looked like her hope was fluttering like a candle in a wind. This was, after all, not the reunion she'd no doubt been dreaming of since the day Bruce was taken from them and every sign that it wouldn't happen shook her. He needed to give her something to cling to and gain strength from.

"Don't lose faith, Martha." He walked over and took her hands in his own. "Rome wasn't built in a day and over a decade of living another life can make old memories hard to recover."

"I know but it's hard seeing him keep us at arm's length," she said with a little waver in her voice. "How long is it going to take for him to accept the truth? What are we going to have to do to convince him?"

"I don't know. I honestly don't know," he replied, unable to come up with an answer. "This is my first time dealing with a situation like this, just like you. No text book can prepare you for something like this. All we can do is do the best we can and, God willing, we'll be rewarded for all our hard work."

Martha took the strength from his words he'd hoped she would and then put on her 'determined' face.

"I know our plan for the moment is to show him places and people in order to jog his memories but what if that doesn't work?" she asked, sounding serious about planning out the possibilities.

"Then we may have to propose hypnotic regression therapy," he replied, mentioning something he was reluctant to do. "There have been valid documented cases of it successfully recovering old or repressed memories. We would have to convince him that the doctor we select will be impartial and would never consider tampering with the results to favor our desired outcome."

"This would have to be a last resort move," she said, sounding like she wouldn't budge on this point. "We're strangers to him now and this move would look to him like the desperation of two grieving parents."

"I agree. Our argument will have more weight if we remain rational and keep our arguments based on logic as well as facts."

"Right," she said, as much to confirm his words as to reassure herself. "Right."

Hearing footsteps approaching them from upstairs, he gave his wife a look that clearly stated 'quiet'. A minute later both Alfred and Bruce reappeared, looking like they were getting along nicely and that warmed his heart as memories of his son as a child also being close to the butler. Whenever he and Martha had to go out to some hospital or corporate function, they left their son in the care of Alfred, who never failed to keep the boy entertained. Perhaps… perhaps if the two spent more time together it might stimulate the desired brain cells and bring the Wayne family back together.

"All settled in?" he asked as they began stepping down the staircase.

"Yep. Posh room," Bruce replied, partially feigning a smile. "Definitely a step up from my old room in Sunnydale."

"Ready for the tour?" he asked, mentally making a list of locations to visit in order of importance to his son.

"Sure. Let the nickel and dime tour begin!" Bruce replied with a half enthusiastic fist pump in the air.

 _Please, God, let this work!_ he thought as he began to walk.

 _ **Xander's POV**_

 _Well it's official!_ he thought as he lay in bed, looking up at the ceiling of the room that he'd been assigned at Wayne Manor. _The Wayne family is WAY richer than Cordelia's family._

While it was an old memory, he still remembered the time when his entire class had been invited over to the Chase house for a birthday pool party. He hadn't seen much outside the pool area but he had gotten a big enough eyeful to get a grasp of how much money they had. Compared to the Wayne family, the Chases might as well be on welfare and it made him realize all too well the kind of power that was attached to that kind of wealth. He was certainly going to have to keep that in mind when they tried to make their case for the next week and scrutinize every bit of proof they presented before him. People with wealth and power could fabricate proof. Parents desperate to find their son might just create proof to 'convince' him if they'd already drawn their own conclusion.

He hoped they didn't stoop too low in order to get their happily ever after.

He would really prefer that his stay with the filthy rich end on a high note.

Tomorrow the agenda was to review the records of his 'abduction' in an effort to jog his memory as well as bridge the gap between 'then' and 'now'. They probably thought that if they could explain how he got from Gotham City to Sunnydale it'd strengthen their case and make it harder for him to dispute their version of the truth. He personally knew next to nothing about what happened back then when their son was kidnapped, it'd never come up in his life, but maybe it'd help him understand them more. If he understood them, he could very well pierce through their understandable delusion that he was Bruce Wayne and get them to accept the truth.

It'd be harsh, no question, but it'd be better than having them cling to a mistake.

Looking at the expensive looking clock, he wondered if he'd be able to get any sleep or if it'd be a couple of hours yet before fatigue outweighed his discomfort. It was always the same way with him: put him in an unfamiliar room with an unfamiliar bed and he'd be unable to sleep until he got used to both. The only times the new things didn't affect him as much was when he was too tired to care and just wanted someplace comfy to catch a few Zs on.

 _Nope. Not going to happen,_ he thought as the clock hit ten thirty. _Guess I need to wear myself out a bit more._

Getting up off the bed, he walked out of his room to explore the mansion he'd gotten the nickel and dime tour for earlier. They hadn't gone over every place he suspected, more likely the places that they thought would jog his memory, so he'd go to the places that they hadn't shown him.

 _I just hope I don't get lost,_ he thought as he let his gaze pass over things at random looking for interesting things interesting. _This place is HUGE!_

With every step he took he saw something that was so old it was probably worth a couple of hundred thousand dollars or maybe even a few million dollars. Sure, there were random bits of modern tech but even they looked like something only rich people could afford rather than something at Radio Shack. It was all so… overwhelming… to be in the presence of such wealth and have people say it's all his or could be his one day. When he was sitting in class thinking about his future the highest he'd ever dreamt was maybe becoming a pro boxer like his Uncle Ted and winning a title belt. Maybe not anything that'd get on TV or happen at a major boxing match location but at least something that'd do the people he cared about proud. To even THINK that he'd become some billionaire playboy and future head of a multi-national corporation was ridiculous. Everything he knew about being a rich kid was from how Cordy and her Cordettes behaved but he doubted that he'd be able to do a passable impersonation.

He'd go crazy just trying.

Sure, he wouldn't mind the money and the expensive stuff but there was also the media to consider, as well as everyone who'd come looking for a slice of the family fortune. He knew that Hollywood and the comics exaggerated the lengths both parties would go but if they were even half as bad in real life, it'd be one big hassle for him.

He had no desire to have his every waking moment caught on camera or have every Harmony and Cordy coming at him looking to become THE Missus 'Bruce Wayne' just so they could burn through his money on whatever they wanted. Thus he decided he'd be happy enough just getting enough money to fund a fresh start in whatever city or town he decided to settle down in. Considering he was a California boy, he'd probably stick to someplace there, or maybe down in Florida depending on which was cheaper.

It was just as he turned the corner that he spotted someone that didn't look like a member of the maid and butler brigade. It was a young woman, older than him but not much, who looked to be just out of college with shoulder length blonde hair and blue eyes. Oddly enough she was roughly the same height as him and while tall women weren't as rare as four leaf clovers, most of the ones he'd encountered to date were shorter than him. She was dressed in a grey business suit with actual pants rather than the more common skirt and had a curled wire going from her neck to her ear. After a moment's consideration his mind cogitated to the possibility of her being a member of mansion security. Personally he believed that she was wasting her time as a security guard in a suit because she was pretty enough in his eyes to be walking a fashion runway.

"Out for a stroll, Mister Wayne?" the young woman asked with a voice that reminded him of the actress Lisa Edelstein who did the voice for a character in one of his favorite cartoons.

"You could say that, Miss…?" he replied, going silent in order to prompt her to give her name.

"Graves. Mercy Graves," she replied, holding out her hand for a handshake. "I'm a part of the new security detail your father hired."

While he wanted to reiterate that he wasn't Bruce Wayne, he decided to let it slide since he figured that until more concrete information presented itself no one would believe him. Mercy was hired by Thomas Wayne so she'd likely believe him more than anyone else and that meant that, until he could poke holes in the older man's delusion, it was better to stay cool. So instead he chose to do what he normally did when in the presence of a beautiful woman: employ his sparkling wit and dazzling sense of humor.

"I feel safer already," he said with his trademark pending lopsided grin.

She just rolled her eyes at him and he got the impression that she'd had that line tossed at her many times before, to the point where she either expected it or was getting bored of it. He had to admit that it was a rather cliché line but it'd also been too irresistible.

"Good. It's my job to make sure you and your parents feel safe," she said, deciding to move things along. "Are you headed anywhere specific?"

"Not really but if you're offering to tag along I wouldn't mind the company," he replied honestly, both with regards to the lack of a destination as well as the openness for company.

For a moment it looked like she'd decline his invitation but then she seemed to reluctantly concede something in her mind before bringing her right wrist up to her mouth.

"This is Vanilla. Escorting Prince around the property," she said, most likely speaking to her boss or announcing her intentions to the rest of the security detail.

"Roger that, Vanilla. Reassigning detail accordingly," came a man's voice that he could barely hear coming from Mercy's earpiece.

"Vanilla?" he asked, feeling a little curious about how she'd gotten the codename.

"Don't ask. I don't know where the boss comes up with his codenames," Mercy replied, sounding like she thought she could do better when it came to thinking up codenames.

"It could've been worse," he said as he began walking again. "He could've named you Bambi or something equally blonde and stereotypical."

"He wouldn't have done that," she said as she fell into step with him. "He likes chewing his food too much."

"You're that sure you could take him in a fight?" he asked out of mild curiosity.

"Oh yeah," she replied with a confident smirk.

 _Then I'd best mind my mouth or she'll make me eat my molars,_ he thought as he locked away some of his more female fury formulating comments.

For a time they just walked along with him, taking in the environment for something interesting while Mercy looked about for other reasons. While he personally felt they were pretty safe inside Wayne Manor, he could understand how as a member of a security firm the blonde had to stay alert for potential threats and not take anything for granted. Vigilance might as well be the keyword of the business and the people that forgot that probably didn't last very long before getting their pink slips handed to them.

"So when'd you get into the security biz?" he asked, not liking the silence anymore.

"Right after high school," she replied, keeping her answers short and to the point.

"A little quick to decide what you wanted to do with your life, wasn't it?" he asked, finding it odd that she'd be so serious about getting a job straight out of high school.

He knew that money issues or not, once he graduated high school he planned on doing a cross country road trip to see the sights while he figured out what he wanted to do with his life outside of helping the Slayer fight the good fight. He paused for a moment as he tried to remember the girl's name but no matter how hard he focused himself he couldn't quite bring the info to the surface. He found it odd since he distinctly recalled doing many things with her and finding no few demons but then something more troubling occurred to him. It wasn't just her name he couldn't recall, but anything really personal about her. Her face, her voice and her interests were a complete mystery to his mind. What was going on? One thought that immediately sprang to mind was that perhaps it was some sort of aftereffect of the seed of yin while a second possibility was that it was some sort of security precaution employed by the Watcher's Council. The former was a possibility since it'd already done a number on his looks, but the latter was equally feasibly since Giles had made it clear that security and secrecy were important to the old Brit geezers.

 _I don't like having my grey matter messed with but it's not like there's much I can about it now,_ he thought with a frown of irritation. _Giles… isn't around anymore and I don't know anyone else who can undo this big a mind whammy. Maybe if I got back together with L.L or Willow wakes up we can pool what we know and paint as close to a complete picture as we can._

Neither would likely happen anytime soon. though.

"Something wrong. Mister Wayne?" Mercy asked with a little concern.

"Please, if we're going to be talking please call me Bruce or even better Xander," he replied with a half roll of his eyes. "Only my so-called Dad has to be called MISTER Wayne."

"Bruce it is then," Mercy said after a moment's thought. "Now is something wrong?"

"You ever have one of those days when you feel like you're not in control?" he asked in response to her inquiry.

"Only every other day. No one's really in control of their lives," she replied, sounding quite serious in her position. "The best you can do is adapt to what comes your way and hope you can make things better than they were before."

He couldn't say he liked that reply because he wanted nothing more than to stand confident in the fact he was in complete control of his life. Nevertheless he had to concede that the only thing a person could a control was themselves and nothing else. You couldn't control others no matter how hard you tried because they had wills of their own. You couldn't control Mother Nature or the laws of science because they were so much grander than could be comprehended by the mortal mind.

It sucked but that was life for you.

 _ **Gotham City, Robinson Park**_

 _ **Thomas Wayne's POV**_

"Nice place, isn't it, Xander?" he asked as he walked side by side, his wife a dozen or so steps behind their son. "We used to bring you to Robinson Park often when you were younger. You used to treat the place like your own personal Sherwood Forest, running around like you were chasing or being chased by the Sheriff of Nottingham's men."

He couldn't help but smile at the memories, especially the ones that occurred afterwards once Martha had given their boy a toy bow and arrow set, complete with suction cup arrowheads. In the beginning Bruce's aim had been less than perfect and this had resulted in a few mishaps, some of which had required monetary compensation to settle. Personally, though, he still believed that a few of the complainers had just made a fuss to get what cash they could from he and his wife. It was one of the curses of being rich that there would always be people looking to take your money from you both by legal means and some decidedly shadier methods. Fortunately the years spent looking for Bruce had given both he and his wife a great deal of firsthand experience learning how to tell the honest people from the shysters.

Best of all, it'd only taken a small amount of losses for them to get it right on a consistent basis.

"All kids like to pretend they're heroes," 'Xander' said, only briefly glancing back. "It makes them feel like they can do anything and that there's nothing bad in the world. Then they grow up and get to know the truth."

"And that is?" he asked, almost hoping not to get the answer that was being implied.

"That just because you can try to do whatever you want, you won't always pull it off. Either you just can't do it or it's illegal to do it," 'Xander' replied with a somewhat cynical tone. "You can want to be a rock star or a movie star but the odds of actually making it big are actually worse than winning the lottery. Some of the things you want to do are illegal and immoral in most civilized countries. Most are illegal for good reason but some just because it goes against the mainstream morality of the region. Bottom line: while you can try to do as much as you can and go as far as you can, you'll hit a wall sooner or later."

It pained him to hear such a pessimistic outlook from his son and he wondered what could have possibly happened to make Bruce think this way.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe all things aren't possible," Martha said with some sadness in her voice, "but that still doesn't mean you can't dream. After all, you'll never find out where your limits are if you don't look for them and they could be a lot farther away from where you are right now."

"Maybe. I always wondered how I was able to stay in Willow's advanced classes," 'Xander' said in contemplation of his past.

"How close were you to being moved back to ordinary classes?" he asked out of curiosity as well as a bit of pride.

"Never got any specifics from the teacher but I'd say not close enough to be worried about it," Xander replied, sounding like he'd never really given it much thought.

Typical teenager.

Still, as he looked at his wife, he could tell that she was feeling just as much pride as he was at the moment at their son's intelligence. Not just anyone could qualify for advanced high school classes and even if Bruce wasn't an academic prodigy, the fact that he was managing to stay in them was impressive. Perhaps with a little nurturing and optimistic encouragement his son could widen the gap between barely passing and doing well. He suspected that there was an intelligent mind within the young man and all such minds needed was the right environment to flourish. Before he could stop himself he began to go through the various universities and colleges in New Jersey for the right one but before he got too far he clamped down on the plans for the future. While in his heart there was no doubt that the young man walking ahead of him was his son, he knew that'd lead to nothing if he couldn't convince his son of that fact.

It was hard, so very hard, to hold back but he kept telling himself that it'd all be worth it in the end.

As they continued to walk his eyes fell upon the destination that he hoped would have the most effect on Bruce and hopefully shake his son's resolve that he was 'Xander Harris'.

Finger Castle.

It'd been a place that he'd rented out years ago for his son's birthday party, about a year before he'd been kidnapped, and by all rights his son had enjoyed it more than any that happened before. He'd been able to see it for days afterwards whenever Bruce had played with a toy that he'd gotten that day or saw something that reminded him of it. It was his hope that by bringing Bruce here he'd remember that wonderful day and start the avalanche that'd lead to the truth being embraced. With silence he waited for his son to see the castle, hoping there mere sight of it would be enough to trigger a reaction but, when nothing happened, he moved on to plan B.

"Really? It's called FINGER Castle?" Xander asked with incredulity as they climbed the stairs. "Who's the idiot who thought up that name?"

"Well I guess it was named that because if you look at it a certain way it looks like a finger sticking up out of the ground." Martha said with a half practiced smile on her face.

Bruce just shrugged at that before continuing his look at the place.

Time passed by and he was beginning to wonder if perhaps the castle would fail to jar any old memories loose when he noticed Bruce take special interest in a specific patch of stonework. This piqued his interest since he couldn't fathom what was so interesting about it but that was changed when his son took hold of one of the squares of stone and started pulling on it. At first he thought that it was pointless since the construction of the castle was solid and couldn't possibly be undone by the strength of a single teenager, but when the gripped stone popped out he saw that it wasn't nearly as big as he'd thought.

"Just like I thought. I don't know a thing about Gotham but thanks to Tony Harris I know a little about cheap construction work," Xander said as he set aside the stone panel to look inside the hole he'd discovered. "Tony never would spring for quality work if a quick patch job and cheap materials was good enough. He even had me do it instead of calling a real repairman so he could save a few bucks."

He couldn't help a spike of anger inside of him at the thought of the man who'd raised his son, forcing Bruce to fix things around the house and not even provide the proper means of doing so. But then something occurred to him that had hope rising up within him.

"But why did you look there in the first place?" he asked, hoping this might be a sign of progress.

"Curiosity mostly. Plus people hide things in nooks and crannies like this, so I figured it was worth a look," Xander replied with a shrug of his shoulders. "I'll put everything back the way was but you might want to contact someone about sealing it up a little more securely. Someone could get hurt."

"I'll be sure to speak with the head of park maintenance," he said, kneeling down to take a peek inside the hole in the castle.

For the most part it looked like he'd expected, filled with dust as well as bugs, but then he spotted something amidst the dirt and debris that made him pause. He reached out and picked it up but it almost crumbled in his hand. By the time he brought it out so he could see what it was, it was almost unrecognizable.

Almost.

There was still enough in one piece for him to make out as a napkin with an assortment of balloons on it and what he presumed were the words 'Happy Birthday' written on the largest of the balloons. Most people would think nothing of this but to him it might as well have been a spotlight piercing through the darkness. There were numerous designs like this scattered across the modern market but none had THIS particular design. THIS design had been created especially for Bruce's birthday party that year and there was nothing like it anywhere else. The fact that Bruce knew where it was and had even thought to look there in the first place was the best sign that his son still lived in Xander's mind that he'd had to date.

"Looks like some kid managed to get inside a couple of years ago," Xander said, looking at the rotted napkin.

"Yes. Looks like," he said before deciding on a course of action. "Hey, why don't you get us all a snack? If memory serves there should be a hot dog stand just a couple minutes' walk that way. How about grabbing one for each of us?"

Taking some money out of his wallet and handing it to his son, he watched Bruce go but he waited before opening his mouth.

"It's working," he said to his wife, letting a smile grow across his face.

"What do you mean?" Martha asked, sounding both hopeful and confused.

"Look," he replied, handing her the tattered napkin. "It's the same one from his birthday. He knew where it was! He chose to look! He's remembering, Martha!"

It took a few seconds for his wife to look at the napkin, to remember it and to realize what it meant, but then she mirrored his smile before outshining it.

This wasn't the first step that he'd been hoping for; it wasn't as large but he'd take whatever he could get if it wound up brining his son back to him in the end.

 _ **A Short Distance Away, Robinson Park**_

 _ **Xander's POV**_

"That'll be nine forty-five," the hot dog vendor said after he finished putting the toppings on the three hotdogs.

"Here you go," he said, handing the cash over after he finished bagging the cans of soda.

Taking the change, he had to admit that if the smell was anything to go by the hot dogs were definitely going to be a cut above what they served in the Sunnydale High School cafeteria. It was a little hard holding all three dogs in his hand without squishing them but, once he was confident that he had everything positioned right, he began walking back towards where the Waynes were waiting for him.

Deciding to wait until he'd lightened his load by two hot dogs before enjoying his own, he instead chose to reflect on why he'd pulled that slab off the castle to expose the shoddiness. It'd been completely out there and completely unnecessary but, when they'd reached that spot he'd felt… felt a compulsion to take a closer look. Then, after taking the closer look, he'd just done the natural thing and looked deeper until his curiosity was satisfied. He'd brushed it off as nothing, or at least tried to, but even as he walked along he couldn't help but think of the oddness of it all. It was the proverbial splinter beneath his skin but he decided to do the same thing that he did to anything else that annoyed him.

Ignore it until he broke its spirit and it went away.

He was within eyesight of the Waynes when he spotted a flash off to the right and naturally his inner paranoia/curiosity caused him to look for the source. It took a few passes but he finally managed to spot someone in a baseball cap just poking everything from the shoulders up out of a collection of bushes. With camera in hand and a visible telescoping lens, it didn't take a genius to figure out that someone was keeping tabs on the Waynes. The press? Probably. Someone looking to finish what they started with the real Bruce Wayne? Possibly. Either way he had a choice to make: either catch up with the adults to let them know what was going on or have a little chat with the shutterbug. Seeing as how telling Thomas and Martha that they had a peeping tom problem would probably ruin their day, he chose the latter.

Thankfully he was the uncontested sneaking king, so with only a little difficulty he managed to get less than ten feet from the shutterbug but only because the foliage was so dense getting any closer would've let his prey know he was there.

So now all there was to do was pounce.

"You know you'll get better shots outside the bushes rather than in them."

"AAAHHHH!" the camera wielder squealed in shock as she stood up in surprise, tried to move and wound up tripping over something, falling out of the bushes and to the ground.

As a result the baseball cap fell off, exposing a head of red hair that was way too long to be a guy's and, when the photographer raised her head, it was confirmed. With blue eyes that were oddly piercing, she looked at him like the proverbial child that'd gotten herself caught pilfering from the cookie jar. While a little old for something like that she wasn't any older than him physically, so he figured that she couldn't be an employee for one of Gotham City's newspapers since they'd want someone with more experience.

Still, he was curious now about why she was trying to take covert pictures of Thomas and Martha Wayne.

"So what's with the spy shots of the two old folks?" he asked, trying to sound like he didn't know the target of the teenage girl's interest.

"Um… well, they're the Waynes… and famous… and rich… and…" she replied, trying and failing to come up with an excuse before dropping it. "Look, I'm just trying to do a little investigative journalism. I got a tip that Thomas Wayne suddenly flew out of Gotham a few days ago without any warning and recently hired on some extra security. I smell a scoop so I figured I'd follow them for a while."

 _If she's been following the Waynes then why doesn't she recognize me?_ he thought while keeping his face reaction free. _The only thing that makes sense is that she didn't start her surveillance until AFTER I left to get the hot dogs. Talk about good timing._

He SO didn't want to get chased by reporters thinking he was the newly returned Bruce Wayne. He was having a hard enough time as it was convincing the Waynes that he wasn't their missing son.

"Soooo… what? You work for the Gotham Gazette or something?" he asked, figuring digging a little could come in handy.

"Um… not at the moment, BUT I plan to one day!" she replied, looking a little awkward for a moment before rallying. "For now I work for the GSU student newspaper."

"And I'm guessing you thought digging up info on the Waynes would look good on the resume you handed the Gazette?" he asked, extending a hand to help the girl back to her feet.

"Yep!" she replied taking the offered hand. "So… are you going to rat me out to the Waynes?"

"No, but I think you should give some thought to terms like 'journalistic integrity', 'tact' and 'compassion'," he replied, trying to sound both reasonable and firm at the same time. "No one likes a reporter who puts headlines ahead of people. I'm all for keeping the people in the loop about the truth but not if it means ruining lives or at least making them worse than they already are."

"HEY! I'm not one of those snakes that distort the facts just to get 'sexier' headlines!" she exclaimed, sounding genuinely offended at the implications. "I know where to draw the line when it comes to reporting… uh… who're you again?"

"Xander Harris and maybe you do but maybe you don't," he said, trying to be honest yet inoffensive. "I don't know enough about you, Miss…"

"Vale. Vicki Vale," she replied as their hands separated. "And I guess you have a point."

"Look, I'm not saying don't do your job. I just think that you should wait until you have the whole picture and THEN decide whether or not to publish," he said as he began to turn away from the young woman in order to circle around to meet up with the Waynes. "You can be an ace reporter and keep your karma good at the same time."

With that he walked away, hoping that his little bit of wisdom would prompt her to leave so she wouldn't see him with the Waynes. If something like that'd happened to him, it'd just feed his curiosity all the more and so too he figured would it feed Vale's curiosity if she saw him with the Waynes. It took another ten minutes but, when he stood next to the husband and wife without seeing any sign of Vale in the area, he took that as a sign that the aspiring reporter had taken his words to heart.

"You get lost on the way back, Xander?" Thomas asked with a bit of humor.

"Nah. Just had to use the washroom," he replied, figuring that it was the most reasonable excuse. "Here are the hot dogs and the sodas."

Once each of them had their own food and beverage, it was time to dig in and just like he'd expected the hot dog was leagues above what the lunch lady had served at Sunnydale High School. It made him think that, even when he did dispel the Wayne's delusion about him being their son, he might stick around just for the better class of food that seemed to be in Gotham.

"Soooo… before Sunnydale was destroyed, did you have any plans for the future, Xander?" Thomas asked, no doubt trying to sound casual but failing. Badly. Even the look his wife gave him made that clear.

"Not really. Cross country road trip after graduating high school, then probably find a job in Sunnydale," he replied after a moment. "Never really expected to be able to save up enough money to go to college so I figure getting into the job market right away is pretty much a given."

"You didn't think your advanced classes would be enough to earn you a scholarship?" Martha asked, sounding a little puzzled.

"Not really. With Willow, she was smart enough to write her own ticket to any college or university in the world," he replied with a shake of the head. "Me? Just because I took some advanced classes with her that doesn't mean all of my classes were advanced. Besides that, not going to a college frees me up to follow my friends to whichever one they go to so we can keep the gang together. At least that was plan… until, you know…"

"Don't let go of that future yet, Xander," Thomas said with great reassurance. "Miss Lance is still alive and so is Willow. I firmly believe that where there's life there's hope."

It was a corny platitude but he had to admit that it wasn't completely ridiculous. While you were alive you could work towards any dream and even if you were sick, as long as the heart was pounding there was always the chance a cure could be found.

"I guess so but I hope Willow doesn't take too long waking up," he said with an almost perfect lopsided grin. "We teenagers aren't exactly known for our patience."

Especially not when the longer Willow stayed under, the less likely she was to wake up.

 _ **Wayne Tower**_

 _ **William Earle's POV**_

 _Not much to look at but the resemblance is unmistakable,_ he thought as he looked at the photographs he'd acquired through the hired help.

While he had yet to acquire the medical files on the young man, he'd be very surprised if they didn't confirm what he already believed to be true. Out of the mists of the past the young heir he'd all but written off as lost for good had returned, bringing with him a sizeable obstacle to his long term goals. Up until when the police Commissioner had barged into Thomas' office, he'd been poised to officially oust his superior from the position of power and become the most powerful person in the company with no rivals. He'd already pointed out Wayne's numerous incidents of neglect when it came to business matters to the other board members, both one-on-one as well as in the board room. He'd even mentioned how troubling Thomas' lingering obsession with his son was and how dangerous it could be to allow such a man to make the big decisions. It'd only have taken another year at the most before his plans would've reached fruition but now there was the potential for it all to fall apart.

With Bruce back his father's focus would sharpen, allowing Thomas to regain his business acumen and actually be the owner of Wayne Enterprises he used to be.

Add to that the presence of a mature heir to the Wayne family fortune and the board members might just be willing to give Thomas a second chance.

This could NOT be allowed.

At the same time, though, taking action immediately would not be prudent, especially with the extra security that'd been placed around the Wayne family. He'd only gathered the basics about the security firm but even that much gave him the impression that they were amongst the best available on the American east coast. He'd thought for a moment that there was an opportunity to cite their ridiculous monthly fee but their rates were actually rather reasonable considering the sort of clientele they worked for. While they did have the potential to be pricey, it was only if you hired large quantities of their operatives. For the amount Thomas had hired, they could safely be paid for out of his own pocket with no danger to Wayne Enterprises.

 _I will have to think long term,_ he thought as he set the photographs down on his desk. _Watch, wait and strike once I've made sure that the deck is stacked in my favor._

He'd have to wait a bit though for his information gatherers to get back to him on whatever they could find on what young Bruce had been up to these past years, but once he had the ammunition he could start picking his shots. He wouldn't do it directly, of course, he had an image to maintain in front of the board of directors, but if there was one thing you could say about Gotham City it was that there was no shortage of people willing to do illegal things for the right price. A few well-placed bribes, some questionable photos taken and some damaging associations for young Bruce and he'd be removed from the board's list of acceptable heirs to the leadership position of the company.

Then, of course, he could manipulate Thomas into a no win scenario wherein he would either have to properly punish his son for his disappointing antics, thus alienating the young man, or protecting him, causing his superior to be seen as lacking the backbone to discipline his son. If he did the former he could slink his way in to be the young man's ally, turn him against his father and then, once the elder Wayne was out of the way, he could slit junior's throat (metaphorically speaking, of course).

On another front he could do what he could to fast track some of his personally supervised projects so that his successes made it all too clear who should be running Wayne Enterprises. He already had his eye on several up and coming scientists whose work had intriguing business potential and could be kept under respectable control with either money or false promises. Naturally he would make sure to insert into their contracts the fact that anything they made while working for Wayne Enterprises would belong to the company but it'd be well hidden in the fine print. Thus far he was poised to hire a rising star in the field of robotics, an older man with a talent in the area of vegetation and a young man who was proving quite proficient in the area of biogenetics. The first could give rise to a source of obedient and tireless workers or a police force that could not be bought. The next could help increase the crop yield for farms worldwide, going a long way towards ensuring that no one went hungry ever again. As for the last there were numerous genetic diseases that the current level of medical science was incapable of defeating and, if he could make progress in curing even one of them, Wayne Enterprises would be catapulted onto the top of the corporate heap.

So while the latest development in his life was as unexpected as it was unwelcome, he hadn't gotten as far as he had without knowing how to make it through some pretty choppy waters.

"Mister Earle?" came his secretary's voice through the intercom on his desk. "Your three o'clock meeting is here."

"Show him in, Miss Tennison," he said before shoving the photographs into his desk drawer.

 _Business before personal matters,_ he thought with the air of an expert. _A rule Thomas would've done well to follow after Bruce's kidnapping._

 _ **Wayne Manor**_

 _ **Martha Wayne's POV**_

"We're running out of time, Tom," she said as she lost sight of her son as Bruce went around the corner of the hallway on the second floor. "We've only got two days before the week is up and he's still not convinced. He still hasn't REMEMBERED!"

"I know and we've taken him to almost every place we can think of that might trigger a memory recall," Tom said, sounding just as concerned as she was.

"Almost every place?" she asked with a bit of confusion.

"There is one we haven't gone to but it's only because I wasn't sure if the memories would be strong enough," he replied, letting his uncertainty show in his voice. "Monarch Theater."

In a flash she recalled the night so long ago when on an outing they'd taken their son to a movie for the first time. He'd only been four years old at the time but both she and her husband had felt that he'd enjoy the experience. The movie showing at the time had been a classic, 'The Mark of Zorro', and just as they'd predicted Bruce had come out of the theater talking like a child on a sugar rush. True, her boy had eaten quite a bit of chocolate covered raisins, but the energy he was showing had more to do with movie he'd so enjoyed. For several days straight little Bruce had gone around with a black pillowcase tied around his neck and a stick in his hand, pretending to be Zorro fighting the corrupt or helping the innocent. There'd been a few accidents and a few valuables made not so valuable, but fortunately, as was the case with most children, Bruce eventually found something else to catch his interest.

Much to the relief of Alfred, who'd been rather upset at the lost valuables.

It'd happened so long ago that she hadn't considered it when she'd come up with a list of places where Bruce might regain his memory.

"As it so happens I checked and the theater's schedule and 'The Mark of Zorro' is playing there tomorrow at seven," he said with an optimistic smile. "I don't think we'll get a better final shot at shaking loose the truth than this."

She had to admit that she couldn't come up with anything better, at least not in the time they had left, so with a nod she agreed to the proposal.

"Don't say a word. I want it to be a complete surprise for Bruce," Thomas said with the utmost seriousness. "The less warning he has, the less chance of him coming up with some sort of excuse if this does wind up doing the job."

"Of course," she said with a nod.

"Well, let's get to bed," he said as he began turning towards the staircase. "We've got a busy day ahead of us."

"You go on ahead," she said, keeping her true intentions a little more under wraps. "I'll be up in a little bit."

"Okay. See you in a bit," he said before turning fully away and walking up the staircase.

Seeing him go she waited only for a moment before moving towards the room that'd been like a second home to her since her darling boy had been taken away from her. It was filled with files and pictures pertaining to every lead they'd ever found, including those that hadn't panned out. There was also a computer with enough cutting edge hardware and software to make it superior to whatever the FBI was using.

However tonight her objective was completely different.

Tom's idea was a good one but she wasn't willing to bet everything on Bruce remembering the truth. She had to be prepared to build on any crack, any sliver, that popped up as well as counter the excuses that 'Xander' might come up with. Arriving soon at her computer, she began to look up everything she could on 'The Mark of Zorro', with special emphasis on records of where it'd been shown over the course of the last twenty years. She needed a list of every theatre and every television station that had shown it and thankfully the connections she'd made over the years gave her access to the necessary databases. Her objective? Make sure that there was no way that 'Xander' could have seen the movie in California either in a theatre or on television. If she could find proof enough of that then if her son tried to use the excuse that he'd seen it 'back home', she could show him proof that that was impossible.

It was exhaustive work, so much so that she lost track of time, but gradually she managed to comb through all the unneeded facts to get at what she wanted. While not as complete as she'd like it did strongly indicate that the movie in question had never been shown at any theater in the town of Sunnydale and the only Zorro movies shown on the state's TV stations were the modern incarnations. Neither of them had shown the older pre-nineteen fifties version at all, or at least she couldn't find a single record online that conclusively proved that. So unless Bruce went to the one theatre or watched the one channel that had chosen to show 'The Mark of Zorro', she had her proof that the only way he could've seen the movie before was if he really was Bruce Wayne.

Printing off all the records she could and using a pen to highlight the relevant areas, she folded them in half before leaving the room.

 _Of course he'll probably say something like 'you just created all this PROOF',_ she thought even as some niggling doubts slithered out from beneath her confidence.

If that happened then all she could do was provide him with the means to confirm the information himself on a system that neither she nor Tom could possibly have rigged in their favor. It wouldn't be easy considering the sheer number of computers in Gotham that'd been made by Wayne Enterprise but it was all she could think to do.

 _Please, God. If you're listening, don't take my boy from me again,_ she prayed even as she ascended the steps to the second level of the mansion. _Don't let a lack of memory take him from me again._

She didn't think her heart could take it.

 _ **Gotham City**_

 _ **In Motion Inside the Wayne Limo**_

 _ **Xander's POV**_

 _Well one more day and this'll all be over,_ he thought as Alfred drove them to the theater. _I'll give credit where credit's due: they tried their best. They took me all over Gotham to places they thought would 'jog my memory' and more. I feel a bit sorry for them but it's for the best. Once they get off this riff that I'm their son, maybe they'll finally be able to move on with their lives._

He might not have had enough time to do some in depth research but he'd been able to put enough clues together to get a decent picture. They'd been looking for their son Bruce for over a decade without rest and had put their own lives on hold. This'd caused some problems for Thomas Wayne, both with his company as well as with his medical practice at Gotham General Hospital. He could understand this because he knew that he'd have problems if his boss or an employee couldn't get serious and do their job. He could only imagine that Martha Wayne had likewise let her own life crumble over the years and, well, it wasn't very healthy for either her or her husband.

They needed closure.

They needed to move on.

 _Hopefully a bust at the movies will seal the deal,_ he thought as he looked ahead of where the car was going and spotted the theater getting both closer as well as larger.

Then out of nowhere Alfred pulled the car over to the curb before coming to a complete stop.

"Why're we stopping here?" he asked, figuring it'd make more sense to pull up in front of the theatre to let the three of them out.

"Well it seems that despite my best efforts to keep any rumors from leaking out, the press has gotten word of the trip out to California a week ago," Thomas replied as he opened the right rear passenger side door. "So we're going to go in the side door. Thankfully the owner of the theater was willing to oblige me when I called."

"You mean now half the city thinks I'm your son?" he asked, not liking the idea of being chased around the newshounds as a possibly returning Bruce Wayne.

"Not as such. All they know is that Martha and I went out to California soon after the Sunnydale disaster and came back two people heavy," Thomas replied, somewhat allaying his concerns. "Fortunately they don't know where either of you are staying yet. I've asked the doctors examining Willow to be extra careful not to let anything about her leak to the press. Hopefully our more middle class clothing and entrance through the side will let us enjoy the movie without getting mobbed by the press."

This had to end and end soon.

Even if he managed to get the Waynes to finally accept that he wasn't their son, if the press got a good grip on his personal info they'd hound him for months and Willow too. It wouldn't even matter if the Waynes made an official declaration that he had no connection to them whatsoever, the press would still see the potential for a scoop one way or another. They'd only stop once Xander Harris and Willow Rosenberg stopped selling newspapers or boosting ratings. That could mean anything from weeks to months of thinking up ways to dodge reporters and photographers looking to make a quick buck. Considering the fact that he had next to no experience in dodging people with cameras, microphones or tape recorders, it'd be hell.

 _Maybe it's like evading bullies,_ he thought as they walked towards the theater while keeping an eye out for trouble. _Familiarize yourself with the area then plan out routes while thinking up obstacles that the pursuers won't be able to overcome._

It didn't take more than a few minutes for them to get to the alleyway next to their destination and fortunately it didn't take them long to reach the side entrance where a theater employee awaited them. Looking at the girl, she was clearly wearing vintage usher clothing but rather than make her look bad he thought it was tailor made for her. Judging by the anxiety on her face, he figured she knew who it was she was helping and that was understandable considering it wasn't every day you helped the richest family in Gotham sneak into the theater. Still, he gave her a wink and a smile, hoping it'd calm her down, but the blush he got for his efforts wasn't what he'd been aiming for. Still, at least it distracted her from her anxiety for a minute.

Once they were inside they made their way over to the concession stand for some snacks and once he stood in front of the display glass, he looked at what was offered. Some of the candy he recognized the names of while others he was totally clueless about. He thought for a moment to take some of the candy he'd tasted in the past but on a whim he chose to grab some unknown candy bar with red and yellow wrapping. He figured it'd probably be one of the last times he could get it and to commemorate his last night with Wayne family it'd be good enough. A medium soda pop to wash everything down and they were walking down the aisle to the best seats in the house.

Looking about the high ceilinged room, he had to admit that the place was definitely classier than the theatre back in Sunnydale with antique light fixtures and a tasteful combination of metal and velvet in just the right places. Speakers to provide surround sound were hidden behind fancy looking shields hanging on the wall and there were even a few box seats a little more than ten feet up from the ground. Couple it all with the uniforms of the staff and whoever owned the place definitely wanted things to be done as close to the old style feel of things as possible.

Sitting down in the elaborate and definitely not theatre chain seats, he took a moment to take in the feel of it and it really did feel good. It was almost like the chair he'd had in his room back in Sunnydale with how comfortable it was making him think that it'd seen some serious breaking in. After all, most chairs were comfortable enough but they still needed to be worn in a bit before you could really enjoy them.

He was glad that someone had gotten his seat ready for him.

Minutes passed and people continued to trickle in to see the movie but thankfully it didn't look like it'd be a full house, either because not too many people wanted to see an old fifties style movie or because the film had been playing long enough that most people had seen it already. Still, he could see both Tom and Martha do what they could to keep anyone from getting a clear look at their faces but he figured that once the lights went down it wouldn't matter anymore.

Fifteen minutes later it was show time and, as he watched the curtains concealing the projection screen part and the lights start to dim, he wondered how good the movie would be. He'd seen Zorro movies and TV shows before, it was a popular story, but he'd never seen the fifties classic that'd show up on the big screen soon. Not surprising since both TV stations and movie theatre chains focused their efforts on things that'd earn them money or get good ratings. Putting an old movie on the big screen or on TV wouldn't do either so 'The Mark of Zorro', while well-known, hadn't been a regular audience grabber in California. Still he wasn't totally against oldies since he'd seen 'Casablanca' with Humphrey Bogart and liked the movie a lot. His Uncle Ted often had him watch some of the 'classics' with him the few times that he'd stayed overnight at his place and, while he hadn't like all of them, he'd like most of them.

As soon as the first bit of video appeared on the screen he could instantly tell that while some touch up work had been one on the film it was mostly cosmetic. As lines were spoken and actions taken, he found himself letting his mind sink into the old style of storytelling where things were more black and white then in modern movies. He didn't think that the script writers had dumbed down the movie to a level that a preteen could handle but at the same time any twists would likely more of the cleverly planned trap kind rather than a good guy turning bad.

However it was as they reached the halfway point in the movie that things began to take a personal twist that was for him and him alone.

"I went directly from the ship to our old home. I met Senor Quintero-" the actor said on the big screen.

 _-and his charming wife. I found them very pleasant and agreeable._

He somehow knew how the rest of the line went before it was spoken.

This struck a chord with him.

He could not for the life of him remember ever having seen this movie before, so it should've been impossible for him to be able to accurately predict the lines to this degree. Perhaps subsequent Zorro movies or TV shows had adopted the line and he just couldn't remember which one? It was possible and it explained everything in a nice red bow. However as the movie progressed he found himself finishing the lines of the people on the screen more and more, with special accuracy appearing during some of the more pivotal and therefore memorable scenes.

To say he was finding the whole experience bizarre would be an understatement.

It might've been possible for one or two lines to be inherited/adopted by subsequent versions of Zorro but not the amount that his mind was completing. He knew of one possibility that Thomas and Martha would point out if he told them what he was experiencing but he still rejected the idea even if his mind was having a harder time doing it than before. Maybe he'd gotten some sort of magical ability from a lifetime of exposure to the Hellmouth's energies or the seed of yin that destroyed Sunnydale. It wasn't impossible and it was a far more favorable possibility than the one his mind was currently rejecting.

"His Excellency will never forgive me if I let you go without a word of welcome from him," Captain Esteban Pasquale said on the projection screen. "I'm sure that you'll have me a reprimand."

 _How could I refuse a man anything with a naked sword in his hand?_ he thought as once again his mind supplied the following line before it was spoken on the big screen.

By the time the movie came to an end his irrational refusal to consider the Wayne family's story truth label worthy was beginning to form sizeable cracks. Nevertheless if there was one thing he could be called and would proudly claim to be it was stubborn. If he hadn't been stubborn he probably would've fallen into the bottle like Tony had or not gone into the tunnels after Buffy to rescue Jesse. If he hadn't been stubborn he probably wouldn't have lasted long patrolling with Buffy and fighting the big bad of the night.

So even though his preferred perfect picture of his life was cracking more and more, he'd hold on until the proverbial walls came crumbling down and the blade of truth was pressed against his throat.

Never give up even in the face of certain defeat.


	5. The Grand Debut! Hope you survive!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the copyrighted materials contained herein. They are the rightful property of their respective creators and/or the associated companies. I make no profit from this whatsoever and I have no intention of changing this in the future. I write because it's fun and because some readers enjoy my stories. Therefore it would be greatly appreciated if no legal action were taken against me.

PS-Positive reviews are always appreciated. Constructive criticism will be considered but not necessarily acted upon. People writing negative reviews just to take a dump on my work and ruin my day will be gleefully ignored.

 _ **Wayne Manor**_

 _ **Alfred Pennyworth's POV**_

Like every other morning at precisely five thirty his alarm clock went off, awakening him from his slumber with the needed force to keep the lingering fatigue from reasserting itself. Once he was satisfied he got out of his bed and went to the bathroom adjoining his room to take a shower and clean himself up since it would be abhorrent to look anything less than perfect as he went about his duties. Once done there he returned to his room and opened the closet to pick out the freshest of his uniforms before laying it carefully on his bed before going through the process of getting changed. It didn't take him long to do given than he had been carrying out his duties as butler to the Wayne family for a great many years it'd become second nature to him.

Once he was sure that everything was in its proper place and that his gloves were secure he left his room to begin handing out duties to the rest of the household staff. Contrary to what some people might think he did not do all the chores and jobs by himself. He simply did as much as he could without overexerting himself and then handed out whatever was left over to the rest of the staff based on their specialties. Thinking for a moment he was gratified to realize that today would be a slow day compared to others, with only a few things requiring his personal attention. That would be good since today would either be the best day this mansion had seen in over a decade or it would turn his employers into mere shells of what they were now.

It was the final day of the week that Alexander had given his employers to convince him that he was in fact that he was actually their son. While he had not read the medical files or spoken with the doctors, he trusted that those who'd compared what was on file for Master Bruce and Mister Harris had done a competent job when they sought their conclusions. If they were convinced that Xander was Bruce then that was good enough for him. However, much like he suspected Mister Wayne and his wife had, he realized that being the heir to the Wayne family fortune in body was one thing but being so in mind was another thing altogether. Thus he had done what he could to aid in his employer's efforts to jog the lad's memories either by cooking the meals young Bruce had enjoyed as a boy or finding ways to reintroduce old discussions that had importance.

A bit difficult considering that they were all discussions involving topics both safe for a child to have and simplified to keep said child from getting confused but he prided himself on his resourcefulness.

Sadly, based on the expression on his employer's faces after they returned from the theatre, it look like their last ditch effort at awakening the lost memories had ended. Still, it looked as though Master Thomas still intended to aid the young man however he could, even if it meant ensuring that young Xander never found out.

A poor substitute for the glorious reunion that'd been hoped for but, unless a miracle happened, it would have to do.

Time passed as he went about his duties, checking in with the new security force on the property as needed, but eventually the time came to begin preparing breakfast for Xander and the Waynes. It was then, as he entered the kitchen, that he saw something that made him pause and simply stare at the sight before him. Standing in front of the shelves with the various ingredients he used was Xander Harris but, while the lad's presence alone was odd the fact that the young man seemed transfixed on the container in his hand was stranger still.

"Is there something wrong, Alexander?" he asked, seemingly snapping the lad out of his focused state.

"Wrong? Not really," Alexander replied as he put the container on the table. "Didn't sleep very well last night. Had a lot on my mind."

"I imagine having an uncertain future ahead of you would make it difficult to sleep," he said, knowing that rebuilding one's life after calamity was not easy. "At least you won't have to worry about Miss Rosenberg. Master Wayne made it clear that he would do all he could to help her regardless of the week's outcome."

"There is that, I guess," Alexander said as he walked over to the nearby window. "Still, it's funny how life sometimes goes. You live through the years, you start feeling like you know the score and you make plans for the life you want to have. Then out of nowhere Fate decides to bop you on the head, throwing everything out of whack."

Hoping that he was reading it right but not wanting to spook the prey, he kept his face neutral.

"The one constant, young sir, is that no one ever knows the score and you almost never see the big life changes coming. All you can do is take each day as it comes and do your best to guide it in the direction you want it to go," he said, giving Alexander the same advice his father had given him long ago. "You might not get the future you want but with a little luck you could wind up getting something even better."

"I don't know whether to be optimistic or depressed," Alexander said with a half smile on his face. "I never liked the idea of Destiny and Fate because it sounded too much like we couldn't control how our lives turned out. It meant that there were no possibilities. Just a set path for you to follow whether you liked it or not."

"I prefer to think of Destiny to be a lot like the sciences, Alexander. You might need to accept the fact that there are certain laws that can't be changed, certain limits that can't be exceeded, but that doesn't mean you still can't make something impressive with it," he said reassuringly, trying to nurture the half smile into a full one.

"You could be right at that," Alexander said and, while the young man's mood wasn't completely improved upon, it was still a fair sight better than it'd been when he'd first walked in. "I still have some more thinking to do so I'm gonna hook up with Mercy and take a stroll around the grounds. Should be back in time for breakfast."

Mentally calculating how long a leisurely stroll would take as well as when Mister and Missus Wayne would be up expecting their morning meals, he planned his preparations accordingly.

"Oh, and Alfred?" Alexander asked as he stopped at the door leading outside.

"Yes, Alexander?" he asked, figuring the lad was going to submit a request for his breakfast meal.

"You might want to find a better hiding place for that from now on," Alexander replied as he resumed walking, "I don't think the old one is going to work anymore."

It was a puzzling statement but as he turned to look at the container that Alexander had been holding when he'd walked in, a possibility struck him like a lightning bolt. With speed that he'd not used since his old days in the SAS he moved to the table and picked up the container before turning it around so that he could see what it was.

Condensed milk.

All at once he remembered how years ago, before young Master Wayne had been kidnapped, the boy had repeatedly tried to get the container of condensed milk. It wasn't for any specific reason he suspected other than the fact that the adults seemed determined to keep it away from him. Eventually he'd simply put the container on the top of the ingredient bookshelf since the boy was too short to reach it even if he pulled a chair over to stand on. Of course this didn't stop young Bruce from trying for a few weeks but, after ten failed attempts and five lectures from his parents, the boy eventually gave up.

However it wasn't the bit of nostalgia that had him smiling to the point it almost hurt or cause tears to begin trickling down from his eyes.

No.

It was the fact that if he took the conversation he'd just had and combined it with the revelation that Alexander remembered the struggles to get the condensed milk, then it could only mean one thing.

Not only did this prove beyond any doubt that Alexander was Bruce Wayne but the lad now believed it as well.

At long last the Wayne family was reunited!

A small part of him pointed out that there'd still be a period of adjustment involved as well as some therapy but he didn't care.

All that mattered was that Bruce Wayne had returned and before long all would be as it should've been before that horrible day on the monorail.

 _This calls for my best breakfast EVER!_ he thought before springing into action, ideas and plans going off like firecrackers in his mind.

He hadn't felt this energized in a long time.

 _ **En Route to City Hall**_

 _ **Xander's POV**_

What does a man do when he finds out the life that was meant to be his had been taken from him and was only returned after spending time as someone completely different?

He didn't quite have an answer to that yet, not a complete one, so he decided he'd just take things one day at a time and hope for the best.

In the case of today it was to head downtown to get the official identification papers either updated or created before swinging by the local DMV to get his learner's permit. He'd been planning to get one before Sunnydale was destroyed but kept procrastinating since the odds of him having a car he could drive on a regular basis was iffy at best. Tony used the family car the most and since he was often either at work or the local bar, the opportunity to use it was few in number. He'd read the book that the DMV gave out that stated the basic rules of the road, what you could do and what you couldn't do, and as far as the rest was concerned he figured it'd be like driving a go-cart.

So long as he stayed in the right lane, obeyed both the traffic lights as well as the speed limit and kept an eye out for people, he should have no trouble getting the learner's permit.

Now some people might ask why would he need to learn how to drive when you have a butler who can take you wherever you want to go in a limo?

The answer to that was that he was still getting used to the idea of even HAVING a butler, never mind being driven everywhere by said butler. The nightmare he'd had after going to the theatre might've shoved some old pre-kidnapped memories into his face but that still didn't a rich boy make him. He still had far more memories of being a middle-class teenager and in that sort of life you did things for yourself and considering others doing it for you to be a favor or a rare luxury. So for him getting his learner's permit and eventually his real driver's license was a definite must especially since the fantasy oriented part of his mind was dreaming up images of fast sports cars.

After all what was the point of being a rich kid if you couldn't drive around in ridiculously expensive sports cars that you'd never have been able to afford.

After the learner's permit was obtained... according to Thomas (he still wasn't entirely comfortable attaching the label 'Dad' to the man yet) they wouldn't be able to keep a lid on his 'big return' forever, especially once his files at city hall were updated. There were apparently enough people in that building who didn't mind blabbing to the media in exchange for cash that news of Bruce Wayne returning was sure to get out within the next forty-eight hours. Once that happened, every reporter, photographer and camera person in Gotham would be on the lookout for him since his return would be a HUGE scoop. So basically, unless he decided he wanted to be a recluse and never leave Wayne Manor, they had two choices: hold a massive press conference inviting everyone or have a party with some friends of the Wayne family and only invite the reporters they trusted and respected. Having no experience in the field of managing the press, he'd let Thomas make the call that turned out to be the gathering at Wayne Manor with friends and handpicked members of the press.

Fortunately for him it wouldn't be until tomorrow night since it'd require at least that much time for the security firm to prepare for so many extra bodies floating about the grounds. That and the decorations, the catering service, giving Alfred time to work his magic and having a top tailor make him a suit. With all his clothes destroyed when Sunnydale went boom he didn't exactly have the right attire for a party involving the filthy rich. Personally he wouldn't mind just buying an off the rack tuxedo and leave it at that but apparently Martha was insistent on making up for lost time as a mother. That meant that while she was willing to settle on just the tuxedo for the time being, it was her intention to take him shopping at all the right places until his closets were bursting with clothes.

He didn't care who they were, NO guy liked being dragged into shopping for clothes with his… his mother.

Not that he liked shopping for clothes when he was by himself.

To him they were a necessity that could be fulfilled in twenty minutes maximum but to a woman… well, maybe not ALL women, but definitely a lot of them making a full wardrobe could take the better part of a day. He was so tempted to try to haggle her down to just the bare essentials for their joint trip and say he'd get the rest on an as needed basis but seeing the look on her face he just couldn't do it.

Fortunately Martha agreed to wait until after the get together for the joint shopping trip so all he'd have to endure later today was standing still while a talented tailor got all his measurements. He didn't know if this'd be the type of tailor that literally created your suit around your body as you stood there or just took numerous measurements before telling you when the suit'd be ready. Personally he'd prefer it be the former if for no other reason than to just get it all over with but if it turned out to be the latter, he'd cope as best he could.

Feeling the limo pull up to the curb, he looked out and saw your typical big city seat of power building with Roman pillars and some bits of the gothic style of architecture thrown in where appropriate. To him it showed that the building had remained mostly unchanged since the fifties, most likely with only a few modifications to accommodate any building codes or new inventions. Alfred soon opened the rear passenger-side door, as was his duty as the chauffer, allowing Thomas to be the first out followed by him and Martha.

As he'd figured the security team that'd gone ahead of them was arrayed about the area, keeping an eye out for any sign of trouble, with only Mercy and two others within ten feet of the limo.

"Status, Mister Grant?" Thomas asked the head of the security detail present.

"All clear, Mister Wayne," Grant replied after pressing one finger to his earpiece. "No visible ranged weapons and my people will keep an eye on the foot traffic out here while the rest of us head indoors."

"Good. Let's get going," Thomas said before the three security specialists took up a triangle formation around the newly reunited Wayne family.

As he trotted along inside the formation he could see that a lot of civilians were gawking at the people in suits and some of them probably knew who Thomas and Martha were. Once they got inside the building the number of people who'd know or suspect something was up would also increase and then it'd be up to individual self-control to determine how fast the news would break. He hoped it'd last until after they were safely back in the limo and on their way but with his kind of luck the media would be waiting the moment they set foot outside city hall.

 _Methinks learning to become a master of disguise, escape and evasion is going to be a must for me,_ he thought as they entered the building to fill out the headache that was paperwork.

 _ **Gotham University**_

 _ **Women's Dorm Room**_

"THAT SONUVABITCH!" came an exclamation of fury from behind her, causing her to whip her head around to see what'd set her roommate ablaze emotionally speaking.

Seeing as how V was glaring at the television, she adjusted her gaze to see the outside of Gotham City Hall where two very recognizable people and one stranger were being escorted through a crowd of press by bodyguards. It wasn't until she read the description at the bottom of the screen that she realized why what she was seeing was so important.

'Bruce Wayne returns'

Combining that with the presence of Thomas and Martha Wayne for added credibility and you had a media nuke being detonated at the center of the city. She just knew that within the hour she'd get a call from Hector telling her to drop every other story she was working on for the university newspaper and focus entirely on Bruce Wayne.

 _Not a chore considering how easy on the eyes he is,_ she thought, letting herself act her age for a moment before becoming an aspiring reporter once more.

However this didn't explain why V was throwing up such a fuss.

"What's wrong?" she asked as she got out of the chair by her desk and walked over to her roommate.

"HIM! You remember when I told you that I'd heard that the Waynes were going around town and figured out where they were going next?" V asked, still angry but not quite as eruptive as before.

"Yeah. You came back to the dorm pissed because your camera broke after some guy startled you, causing you to fall out of some bush," she replied, remembering the day the blonde had returned quite well.

"Well HE is THAT guy!" V said, pointing to the TV that currently was completely focused on the young man who looked to be in his mid-to-late teens if she was any judge.

She almost didn't connect the dots until the news station posted a photo that was obviously taken for city records purposes, making her wonder just how quickly the city hall employee must've been to fax it over to the TV station. With the name 'Bruce Wayne' beneath the picture she now knew why V was so pissed because she would be too if it'd happened to her. To not only be responsible for breaking a very expensive camera but also BEING the biggest story of the year and not telling V about it was definitely grounds for outraged ranting.

"Okay, now I get it but you need to calm down," she said, trying to keep a rant that could be cooking inside her roommate from being brought out. "We both want to become ace reporters and one of skills every ace reporter needs is the ability to keep their cool even when we want to do everything but that. Losing your cool means you're unprofessional and no one's going to hire an unprofessional reporter except maybe the tabloids. You want that?"

"No," V replied after taking a few deep breaths to calm herself, "but I definitely want to get even with him for making a fool out of me… and ruining my camera."

"Then keep yours eyes open and your ears sharp, Vicki Vale, and you'll get your chance." She let a grin blossom on her face. "So long as you're willing to share the byline, of course."

"Okay but my name goes first when the story goes to print," Vicki said, making it clear she would not budge on that point.

"No problem," she said, not particularly caring since the story was going to be so big that being number two on the byline would still be good for her resume.

"Any ideas on how to get even?" Vicki asked, sounding like she wanted to get to work immediately rather than wait.

"Well, seeing as how there was no lead up to this in the papers or on TV, I doubt the Waynes planned this. Mister Wayne's never been a big fan of the media either, so he probably planned on something smaller and low key," she posited, trying to recall everything she could about one of the richest men in Gotham City. "Probably some kind of get together at Wayne Manor. Small guest list and even smaller number of reporters handpicked by him. THAT will be our way in."

"What do you mean? Wayne Manor is crawling with security guards!" Vicki exclaimed, clearly not liking the less than stellar sounding plan.

"They'll be looking for intruders. So we won't be intruders," she said, enjoying the unveiling of her plan bit by bit.

The fact that she was making everything up as she spoke didn't matter.

"I happen to have a few 'friends' at some of the high class catering businesses in Gotham," she said, grinning as the plan seemed to come together in her mind. "For a minor fee I can persuade whichever one Mister Wayne hires to loan us two uniforms AND give us a ride past the front gates of Wayne Manor."

"Won't it be suspicious when we don't have a clue what we're doing?" Vicki asked, sounding a little more confident in the plan.

"We'll just do our best and if anyone asks, we're new to the job. That should give us some leeway," she replied, not worried about that detail. "We'll probably have to work for a while before the party gets started but once it does all we'll have to do is bide our time until Bruce Wayne bows out for the night and then we POUNCE!"

"What makes you think he's going to leave the party?" Vicki asked, sounding like she approved of the plan overall but was worried about the details.

"Simple. Wherever he's been and whatever he's been through has probably saddled him with some PTSD. That means crowds and questions to be kept to a minimum until he's recovered," she replied, trying to sound more confident than she was with her diagnosis. "His parents will probably keep him around for an hour or two to let people get a good look at him and answer a few questions but after that he'll be able to leave whenever he wants. We just wait for him to leave and then casually follow him out giving the excuse that we need to use the washroom or something."

"And if security catches us before we can catch Bruce?" Vicki asked, pointing out a real possibility depending on how tight manor security would be.

"We say we got lost in such a BIG mansion and if necessary reiterate that we're new to the catering business," she replied, feeling certain that unless the security forces were heavily paranoid it'd work out. "They'll probably just escort us back to the rest of the catering staff or to the nearest washroom if that's where we say we were trying to go while they wait outside."

"And then what?" Vicki asked, sounding displeased at the prospect of them getting caught and losing what'd likely be their only chance to speak with Bruce Wayne.

"First we look about to see if the bathroom has a window. We can squeeze through that and try to get back into the manor someplace else where there aren't as many guards." She figured that the Waynes couldn't have a security force that was big enough to cover every nook and cranny. There was rich and prepared but there was also rich and paranoid and she didn't figure them for that. Not yet, anyway. "With a bit of luck we can track Wayne down. We can increase that luck if we can get ahold of the plans for Wayne Manor so we can find out where his room probably is."

She watched as a wicked smile appeared on Vicki's face and she knew instantly where her roommate's mind had gone.

"Get your mind out of the gutter. We're only going to ask questions and nothing but questions," she said sternly even though internally she was amused by the images her mind came up with. He was cute and a teenaged boy, after all. "If you want to make a play for him, do in on your own time."

"Oh c'mon! It'd be fun!" Vicki declared with playfulness. "It's not like he'd say no. What guy wouldn't want two beautiful and sexy women in his bedroom?"

"You can't be serious!" she said with a bit of incredulity as she tried to mentally figure out how serious her roommate was.

Vicki just smiled playfully at her with something that COULD have been lust in her eyes but then the spell broke and the blonde flopped back on the bed, laughing her head off.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! You should see the look on your face! HAHAHAHAHA!" Vicki said between laughs that apparently got so bad she had to clutch her stomach. "Like I'd ever screw a guy I don't know just because he's the richest guy in Gotham! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Only a little annoyed at the fact that she'd even been partially fooled into believing that her roommate would drag her into a threesome with Bruce Wayne, she got off the bed and decided to get the ball rolling for the expected gathering. However just before she left the room she got an idea and schooled her features into the proper expression.

"I notice you didn't say anything against getting into a threesome with me and some guy," she said with a raised eyebrow of inquiry.

This stopped Vicki from laughing any more, a look of awkwardness and anxiety appearing on her face.

"If you can find the right guy…" she said, letting a little sexual playfulness enter her voice, "…I'm game if you are."

With that she left the room while mentally counting down from five.

"SUMMER!" Vicki yelled, letting the entire dorm floor as well as those right outside the window know that Gleeson had won another verbal sparring match.

 _ **Wayne Manor**_

 _ **Bruce Wayne's Room**_

 _ **Xander's POV**_

"I look good, you've given me some tips on what to do and the right answers to the questions I'll be asked and I STILL feel like I just want to hide in my room 'til they all go home," he said as he looked at himself in the mirror even as Martha made sure his tie was straight.

"Don't worry. You'll do fine," Martha said before taking a step back to look at him. "All the reporters Tom invited are professionals who value the truth more than fame and fortune. They've also shown remarkable tact in what they choose to put in their stories and what they choose to omit."

He had to admit that if what she said was true then they could be trusted not to be too slimy with their questions and would probably stick to the facts with their story. Sadly he was a product of his generation and that meant that in movies and TV shows there were reporters who'd do anything to mark their place in history. There was no low they wouldn't stoop to get a scoop and they didn't care who got hurt as a result of that scoop so long as they reaped the positive benefits. As a result he'd been more than a little wary of talking to reporters or even letting them get a good look at him for fear that they'd twist everything he said or did into something else for juicier headlines.

Still, the Waynes didn't strike him as fools and if they trusted the reporters they brought in tonight, then he'd try to give them the benefit of a doubt.

 _I just hope it's not as bad as the way it was outside of city hall,_ he thought, remembering the ambush all too well. _Some of the questions were completely fucked up._

Everything from where he'd been, to what he'd been doing and some looking for confirmation on a rumor about him being betrothed to some princess from a country called Vlatava. Not knowing what to do he'd just kept his mouth shut and worked with the Waynes to make their way to the limo as swiftly as possible. Once they'd safely gotten away Thomas had told him that when it came to the media there were times when the right course of action was to ignore them and other times when you had to give them facts before they found ones they liked the taste of. In the case of the city hall ambush keeping quiet and vacating the scene was the right course of action because they needed time to fabricate prepared statements.

Now, though, tonight, they had to give the facts they wanted the people of Gotham to know while keeping the rest a secret.

"Here's hoping it's enough to satisfy'em," he said, taking one final look at his reflection. "Let's get the show on the road."

With that they left his room and he began to review the prepared facts.

When they asked where he'd been he'd tell them that since his abduction he'd been living in Sunnydale with no memory of his life as Bruce Wayne. Fortunately Thomas was a good enough doctor that he'd been able to come up with a psychological reason for this that fit the facts as they knew them so the press wouldn't find things fishy. He'd memorized the broad strokes of it all and had to admit that it did fit together rather seamlessly. When they asked about what sort of life he'd led until recently, he'd paint himself as your stereotypical California teenager: school, hanging out with his friends and spent time at the nearby beach. He wouldn't tell them about Tony and Jessica Harris. He wouldn't tell them how the town had been a hotspot of supernatural activity. He wouldn't tell them ANYTHING that wasn't painfully ordinary and commonplace.

He didn't think that they'd take tales of demons and vampires very well.

As far as his friends were concerned he'd keep their names to himself but he'd describe them as close as he dared without giving the reporters enough clues to dig up the truth. LL and Willow didn't need reporters hounding them, especially his best bud given the bad shape she was in. LL would have enough trouble settling into whatever town or city her parents wound up moving to without people shoving microphones in her face. Willow wasn't even conscious to defend herself physically or verbally, and even if she had been he would never let anyone harass her without SEVERE repercussions.

The rest of those he called friends… hopefully they were in heaven enjoying the good stuff because that was what they deserved.

Walking towards the great hall where the Waynes held most of their big get togethers he heard the reporters and high society types before he saw them. He might not be able to hear what they were saying but he could guess the topic of discussion.

Him.

Plus, given the sort of things he'd overheard Cordy talking about in the halls, he expected to hear more of the same soon.

It only took a couple of minutes before they arrived at the big doors and the security personnel opened it to reveal a room that screamed money and elegance. Inside was an assortment of people all dressed in clothes that probably cost them most of their monthly paycheck to buy and all of them turned at the sound of new arrivals.

Then the noise picked up with clapping hands and words of welcome.

This was quickly matched with a lot of them moving forward for a closer look or probably to shake hands.

Fortunately Mercy and a few other security guards were quick to position themselves so that getting stuck in a sea of bodies wouldn't happen.

"Sorry for the obstructions, folks, but given past problems… better safe then sorry." Thomas said with a polite smile as he took up a position on the left.

"Understandable, Tom," Commissioner Loeb said lending his support. "I'd do the same in your position."

"Thank you. Now, while I'd hoped to reveal the big secret here, as you know someone let the cat out of the bag at city hall causing the secret to come out there," Thomas said, addressing the crowd as a whole. "Many of you remember what happened all those years ago when slave traders came to Gotham to kidnap its citizens in order to sell them for profit to whoever would pay the highest price. While most of those taken captive were rescued some were not… including my son. While we could not bring back those lost to senseless violence, Fate has given me a great gift: it as returned my son to me."

This brought about another round of cheers and clapping hands as the guests voiced their own joy. He knew they were just being polite because there was no way that any of them could feel anything for him since they'd never spoken to one another before. Hell, he doubted that they meant it where Thomas and Martha Wayne were concerned! So he just filed it under background noise.

"I truly wish it had come under better circumstances. As some of you may have heard a couple of days ago my wife and I left Gotham for California in an unannounced trip. Some of you speculated that the disaster in Sunnydale was the cause and you would be right," Thomas said, continuing his address to the crowd. "It was through those search and rescue efforts that my son was discovered. I am still looking into how he could've been hidden there for so long but such answers can wait. My son has been returned to me. That is all that matters."

Cue the applause.

"Now I'm sure all of you have questions," Thomas said, deciding it was best to move things along. "So I'm going to open the floor to questions and then we can enjoy the delicious food and drink. Who's first?"

Naturally this brought up a ton of hands but eventually the C.E.O. of Wayne Enterprises picked one out of the crowd.

"Mister Knox," Thomas said, pointing to the man with the brown hair and passable tuxedo.

"What were your living conditions like, Bruce?" Knox asked, catching the attention of the rest of the press and guests.

 _Figures I'd get the hard questions right off the bat,_ he thought. "About what you'd expect for a middle class teenager living in California. Had a roof over my head, food in the refrigerator and I went to school five days a week before hanging out with my friends for the weekend."

"And you had no memory of Gotham, your parents or anything prior to your abduction?" Knox asked, sneaking in another question before Thomas could give someone else a shot.

"No. Growing up I'd heard of the Wayne family from the news but I never felt any connection to them," he replied, measuring his words before he spoke them. "I never had any reason to doubt who I was and where I came from."

"What changed?" Knox asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"The world. My hometown got turned into a pile of burning rubble. People I'd known all my life died," he said, feeling his emotions begin to slip from his control. "Then my parents found me, spinning a tale that had only existed in movies and TV shows. I didn't believe it at first but after coming back to Gotham with them… things happened and I realized they were telling the truth."

Before Knox could fire off another question the rest of the assembled press began speaking up in an effort to drown him out as well as force Thomas to pick another reporter.

"Miss Kahn from the Daily Planet," Thomas said, pointing at a glasses wearing brunette who was standing off to the right.

"What are your plans now that you're back?" Miss Kahn asked with notepad in hand and pencil ready to write.

"Well, aside from getting used to going from digging for spare change between couch cushions to picking what flashy car I want to drive, I'll probably try to finish up my high school education," he replied going with honesty rather than fabrication. "After that we'll see."

"Do you intend to take your father's place as C.E.O. of Wayne Enterprises one day?" Miss Kahn asked, causing some of the guests to whisper and buzz a bit.

"Maybe. Depends on my grades and what my dreams are at the time," he replied honestly, having considered going into the family business but not feeling the need to commit to it.

"Did anyone else you know survive the Sunnydale disaster?" Miss Kahn asked after she finished writing something down on her notepad.

Hearing this question reminded him of those that'd died.

Giles, Jesse's parents, Principle Flutie… that hottie Miss Calendar.

Remembering those that survived didn't entirely brighten his mood because, while L.L was hale and hearty, his best bud of all time Willow was still lacking in the awake department.

"A few. I'm the only one who came to Gotham so we'll be out of touch until they can send me their new addresses," he replied, keeping things honest but keeping any important details to himself.

This seemed to pacify Miss Kahn for the time being because she didn't fire off another question his way.

From there they continued to go through the list of reporters that'd been invited to the party and answered some questions from the guests who he figured were either big business tycoons or old money rich people. For the most part the questions were pretty much what Thomas had told him to expect but he should've known things were going a little too smoothly when one particular reporter smiled like Larry used to right before tearing a geek to shreds.

"Any truth to the rumors that the entire 'kidnapping' was just a charade? The first part in a big power play by Wayne Enterprises to corner the markets in Europe through an arranged marriage with one of the royal families there?" the man asked, making it sound like he was exposing insider trading or a night gone bad with a couple of call girls.

"How dare you!?" Thomas exclaimed, clearly outraged by the idea that he'd use his own son in such a manner.

"Forget this guy, Dad," he said, knowing that the first step to beating a bully was not to rise to the bait the caveman dangled in front of you. "His entire theory is crazy. Fake a kidnapping to ship me off to someplace in Europe to marry a princess? Please, like the nobles in any country would stand for such a thing. Everyone knows that for those people if you don't have royal or noble blood in your veins you're immediately off the list of potential husbands."

He could tell from the expressions on the other guests that they too were leaning towards considering the guy's theory garbage.

"Really? According to my sources the Vlatavan royal family made an unscheduled stop during their return home to a small retreat that hadn't been used in decades. Right around the time of your 'abduction'," the reporter said, unwilling to give up on his theory. "Apparently there's some 'discussion' going on about the line of succession and the financial future of the country. Something that'd be solved by marrying the heir to one of the richest families in America as well as someone pretty much locked in to sit in the big chair at Wayne Enterprises."

"Really? Your 'sources'? That's the best you can do?" he asked rhetorically, making it clear with his body language that he had a low opinion of the man's words. "If you even had a leg to stand on I'm sure Mister Knox or Miss Kahn would've at least heard something about it themselves but from the looks of things they're as clueless as I am about this so-called secret meeting."

"Then what about THIS!?" the 'reporter' asked, taking out of his coat pocket a piece of paper unrolled to reveal a long list of phone numbers. "A series of calls over a three year period from Wayne Manor to the country of Kaznia. What's more a little digging showed the number being dialed to have an insane level of security placed on it. Perhaps a call to someone important in that country? King Gustav himself or perhaps simply a middle man so things could be kept low profile? I hear Princess Audrey has become quite the attractive young woman. You'd make a cute couple."

"Look, buddy, seeing as how my Dad handpicked every reporter and guest here I doubt he would've chosen a sleazeball like you," he said, beginning to get irritated with the man, "so unless you can provide your invitation, something everyone who was invited should still have, I'm going to have to ask security to see you to the front gate."

"What's the matter, Wayne? Afraid you'll lose your castle?" the man asked, clearly not afraid of being exposed as a party crasher. "Being the uncrowned 'prince of Gotham' isn't good enough?"

"First of all I was raised middle class all the way so the most I ever expected to be was the manager of my own business with a home, a wife and a child," he replied, annoyance changing to mild anger. "Second, unless you've got recordings that prove otherwise, those calls could've just as easily been business related instead of personal. Third: Only the most PATHETIC reporters put any stock in facts they can't prove. Guess when you couldn't get hired to a REPUTABLE newspaper you went fishing in the tabloid pond."

Like most bullies once their statements were turned into Swiss cheese by the truth they had nothing to fall back on except their anger.

"Keep talking, Wayne. Keep talking 'cause sooner or later you're going to screw up and when you do I'M gonna be there to catch it all on film!" the yellow reporter growled even as security moved to escort him off the premises. "Rich boys like you think you can do anything you want then have Daddy grease the right palms to make it all go away. Mark my words, money isn't going to be enough to protect you as long as I'm around!"

With that the angry bully stormed off, yanking his arm free of a security guard who attempted to forcibly guide him to the door.

The damage had been done, though.

His mood as far as the party was concerned had been dimmed and unless something good happened to pep him up he'd likely slip out as early as he could to head back to his room.

"Don't let that idiot get you down. There's one of them in every crowd of reporters," Thomas said, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You just have to have faith that enough of the people here will see the truth and ignore that gust of vile air."

"We'll know tomorrow when the newspapers hit the stands," he said with a grin that was only half forced. "Until then I guess it's time we mingle for a bit. Hope I don't put my foot in my mouth too often."

"Don't worry. Just keep things short and to the point and you should be fine," Thomas said before giving him a little nudge in the direction of the guests.

Short and to the point.

He could do that.

 _ **Summer Gleeson's POV**_

"Looks like Ronnie the Robber's looking to add another conquest to her list," she whispered even as she continued to walk about the room with the serving tray of filled champagne glasses in her hands.

"I swear, she might pretend to be all superior and high class but she's a complete nympho if ever I saw one." Vicki whispered with a bit of an edge.

Couldn't argue the point there since it was a popular rumor that popped up often in the Gotham Tabloids and other places where gossipers went for dirt. While officially Veronica Vreeland was the ideal high society girl and the darling girl of General Vreeland, the unofficial stories about her told a different story. One of teenage rebellion, of using her looks and 'feminine wiles' to wrap every eligible bachelor around her little finger, and spreading her legs every time she got that particular 'itch' that needed scratching. To the redhead's credit she wasn't stupid about her sexual sessions and always made sure she had enough blackmail material on her bed partners to make sure they wouldn't fuck and tell. Some of them she dated for a couple of months but either they couldn't keep her entertained in bed after awhile or she spotted some guy she liked even more and dumped the man she was with.

It was looking like she'd set her sights on Bruce Wayne being her next catch of the day.

Looking at the redhead, she could see the interaction going down a checklist like someone was screaming it out for everyone to hear. First came the sexy saunter up to the Wayne heir with eyes locked onto his for the entire approach. Then came the polite introductions of who she was and to which surprisingly Bruce did the cliché taking her hand and kissing it before saying he was pleased to meet her. This act, of course, probably made Ronnie think that her sexy saunter was having the desired effect and that only a little more prompting was required to get Bruce Wayne on her hook. So a little chit-chat was made, some polite if annoying laughter at something Bruce said, then things moved on to Veronica starting to invade the man's personal space.

She could tell right from the beginning that Bruce Wayne, however he'd been living in Sunnydale, was not use to being on the receiving end of such intimate advances. Not sure why that was because now that she was seeing him in person she had to admit that he was easy on the eyes and if he wasn't so completely out of her league she might even agree to date him. There was the nervous step back, the polite if slightly shaky smile while attempting to politely turn Ronnie down AANNNNDD THERE was the fake 'I think I am needed over there' excuse before Bruce WALKED away.

VERY quickly. Any quicker and it might have been considered a lope.

"Well at least he's smarter than most of the men Ronnie goes after," Vicki whispered the next time they got close enough to talk.

"More like he has a decent survival instinct," she whispered back, her eyes never leaving Bruce Wayne.

"Looks like he plans on making himself scarce until Ronnie's found another victim to latch onto," Vicki said, seeing Bruce making his way for the nearest door out of the room. "Follow?"

"Follow," she replied as she casually began to make her way to a door that should get them to the same hallway.

She knew that the security detail for the Wayne estate would be watching the son of the boss pretty closely so they had to maintain a certain distance for a while until the right opportunity to approach the heir for their own interview. It took some doing but fortunately it wasn't long before both their trays were completely lacking in champagne glasses so they had an excuse for leaving the room. Nodding at the security guards by the door they were allowed to leave without hindrance and, once the doors fully shut behind them, she immediately began walking in the direction she figured Bruce had gone in.

As they proceeded along she was pleased to see that, while there was the odd smattering of suits with guns and earpiece communications gear, the Waynes apparently hadn't had time to install security cameras. That meant that as long as she and Vicki exercised some stealth and peeked before turning a corner, they could avoid being spotted while still keeping track of their target.

What made her think they could out stealth and out sneak trained security guards that looked like they cost a lot of money to hire? Well, the fact that she had brothers that targeted her for all manner of unpleasant pranks growing up, which necessitated being able to evade them without making a sound. Considering the fact that there were four of them she'd been forced to become VERY good in order to have any chance of hiding from them. It didn't always work but thankfully she'd been able to save up enough money to be able to go to any college in the country, so she moved to Gotham and from that day forward never had to worry about her siblings ever again. Even when the family holidays came along she made sure that she had some sort of important excuse on hand to keep her in Gotham and her family elsewhere. She'd passed on a few of her tricks to Vicki for the times when she wanted to avoid members of the faculty or the 'in crowd' that never passed up a chance to tell the blonde what she wasn't and what they were.

Bit by bit they crept and, fortunately for them, Bruce didn't seem inclined to walk at more than a casual pace to get wherever he was going.

The problems popped up when they reached the wide open stair areas where it'd be much easier to spot two caterer employees walking about or, in this case, sneaking. Peeking as much as she dared while avoiding the panning gazes of the security guards in the area, she noticed that a window at the top of the stairs on the second floor of the building was open. Whipping her head this way and that to see where the nearest ways out were, she was pleased to see a door that'd take them to the right side of the building. Gesturing to Vicki she crept her way over to it and, with the utmost care to keep the noise to a minimum, opened it up wide enough for two fit females to slip through.

Once outside she looked for the open window and was happy to see that there was a wooden scaffold of sorts beneath it that looked like it could be safely climbed. It'd still take something of a leap to reach the open window but, so long as neither she nor Vicki made any noise, getting inside through it was still worth trying. Checking for security guards, she could see one turning a corner and another facing away, speaking with someone through his com-piece. Deciding that they weren't going to have a better opportunity, she motioned to Vicki before dashing for the scaffolding, glad that she'd chosen to wear practical footwear rather than heels. Climbing up as swiftly as she could without causing the wood to creak, she soon reached the top and, after a bit of guesswork concerning effort, leapt for the open window, suppressing the grunt as her body impacted the side of the manor. Pulling herself up so she could peek up over the bottom of the window, she couldn't see any guards close by and Bruce was just about to slip out of sight. Pulling herself up through she played lookout until Vicki did the same but, once both were inside as well as on their feet, they crept after Bruce hoping his destination wasn't too much farther.

It was nerve wracking.

It was a RUSH!

Aside from making sure people were kept informed about the world around them, THIS was one of the reasons she wanted to get into journalism; the thrill of piecing together a story either through research or 'investigating' areas where some people would prefer you not be. Sure, people often told her that those kinds of people were dangerous and that it was better to play it safe but they didn't see what she saw. Gotham was sinking into darkness and criminals held more power over what went on in the city than elected officials. Someone needed to do something, to expose the truth, and that was something she'd chosen as a calling. She wasn't stupid enough to think that she could wipe out crime entirely with the stories she'd write but, even if she could only make the scum of the city up their games, she'd be satisfied.

It turned out to be another five minutes before Bruce Wayne finally chose a room to enter but it took seven before she and Vicki could approach it since they had to duck into another room until a patrol of security guards passed by and got out of earshot. Still, both of them had the goal of a private and exclusive interview with the newly returned heir of Gotham's richest family, so they considered the effort they'd put into it well worth the effort. Creeping up to the door, she tested the door handle to see if it'd been locked from the inside while they'd been hiding from the guard patrol.

It hadn't.

With a smile and thumbs up to Vicki, she turned the doorknob and pushed the door open…

…to see Bruce Wayne lounging on a couch wearing sweat pants and a T-shirt, looking right at the two of them while not looking surprised in the least at their arrival.

"Miss Vale. Miss Gleeson. Good job at the tailing," Bruce said with a lopsided grin on his face. "If it wasn't for the hidden cameras and the ear-com I have, I'd have never seen you coming."

This took some of the wind out of her sails and out of the corner of her eye she could see Vicki getting a little angry at being played.

"Now I believe you want an interview with me and, despite the warnings of my bodyguard Miss Graves, I've decided to let you have one," he said, gesturing to two vacant chairs. "Just use some tact with your questions and try not to be like that asshat accusing me of being betrothed to European royalty."

"Not a problem, Mister Wayne," she said, deciding to take things in stride as she sat down on the closest chair.

"Please, call me Bruce," he said, never losing his grin.

It looked good on him.

 _ **Wayne Manor**_

 _ **Xander's POV**_

"I still think you should've allowed me to search them before letting them into your room," Mercy said, sounding like she thought he'd been reckless not to do so.

"Why Mercy, I didn't know you swung that way!" he exclaimed in mock surprise before chuckling at the temporary shock and blush that appeared on the blonde's face.

Temporary since it was soon gone to be replaced with a glare that told him to drop it and take things more seriously.

"I knew who one of them was and Jerry at the camera screens ran a facial recognition on the other. They're college girls with dreams of becoming hotshot reporters," he said with a sigh of concession. "They're just trying to get their first big scoop. I didn't see the harm in letting them have it."

"They could've been here to kill you," Mercy pointed out, refusing to be so blasé about two intruders tailing him to his room.

"Unless you can show me some files that indicate missing time or security scans that indicate they were hiding something in those caterer outfits, I don't think so," he said before reaching for the remote control for the TV that Martha had gotten for his room.

Clicking it on, he surfed through the channels before finding something interesting.

"Some people don't need weapons to kill," Mercy said firmly, trying to get through to him.

"Please, Mercy. While we're away from the cameras and the outsiders you can call me Xander," he said, trying to get her to loosen up. "I agreed to go by Bruce Wayne out in public and in front of others because I didn't want people connecting me to LL or Willow. If they got the name Alexander LaVelle Harris it wouldn't take long for them to find out about Elisabeth Lance or Willow Rosenberg. I won't let that happen."

In an effort to win him over Thomas had walked him through all the steps he'd taken to get Willow the best medical care possible while also drawing attention to her in a way that'd get the curious to look her way. No facial pictures of her in any files attached to her and an alias put where the name went as well as other bits of fabricated information. Thomas had asked a friend of his at Wayne Enterprises, Lucius Fox, to devise a computer program that once inserted into the hospital's computer network would automatically redirect any searches for the alias' medical history to Willow's medical history. Luckily the man was a genius, so putting such a simplistic program out was hardly difficult and took very little time at all. All the doctors and specialists that'd been assigned to her case had been made to sign non-disclosure contracts with some pretty stiff consequences if they disclosed any patient data to unauthorized people. Lucius had even arranged for it so that Willow's computer files could only be accessed from inside the wing of the facility where she was being treated.

Nevertheless, he couldn't help but feel that there was some sort of weak point in their protection that could render all the rest useless.

"Then as your bodyguard, Xander, I really wish you'd be more aware of the dangers of being Bruce Wayne. Your father made it clear that he's worried that the people who kidnapped you before might try again," Mercy said, sounding stone cold serious. "I've reviewed the files on the man, David Cain, who took you from Gotham years ago. He's a world class mercenary specializing in assassination and he's proven that it doesn't matter how powerful you are because he can still kill you if that's what he's paid to do. I don't know if I can stop him or those like him but you won't make my job any easier with a devil may care attitude."

For a moment his anger rose within him but then he remembered all the times Giles had tried to convince the Slayer (someone he still couldn't clearly picture in his mind beyond female and in her teens) not to run all helter skelter into danger. Look, evaluate, plan and THEN get into the middle of things. As his anger faded he had to admit that the times that the Slayer had gone off half-cocked had almost ended in disaster whereas when they took the time to use their heads things went smoother.

Did he really want to be the idiot that caused trouble for others because he wasn't as careful as he should've been?

"I know but I can't spend the rest of my life waiting for some boogeyman from my past to pop up so you or the cops can put him behind bars," he said, trying to show that he understood her point of view. "I have to live my life! If you want me to be safe… maybe you could teach me a few moves?"

"You mean hand-to-hand combat?" she asked, looking a bit puzzled by the turn of events.

"Yeah. I mean, sure, it's gonna be years before I get good enough to stalemate you but if it keeps me alive long enough for you to pull my butt out of trouble then it'll be worth it." He was trying to keep things realistic.

"Well… I don't know if I'll be able to," she said as she looked to be considering the possibilities. "It'd be tough to be your bodyguard and teach you at the same time."

"Wwelllll… then I'll have dad find me a teacher," he said as he considered other options. "Hopefully someone who won't treat me with kid gloves just because I'm rich. If I'm gonna learn anything it'll be without people pulling their punches or sugarcoating the truth."

This seemed to please the woman and he figured that most of the rich people she'd guarded in the past had considered learning self-defense beneath them or were cowards. It was then he considered a possibility he had not thought of: Uncle Ted! He didn't know where his uncle was but he was sure that with Thomas' resources it wouldn't be too hard, and then all that'd be left to do was to come up with the right incentive. He knew from his memories that his uncle didn't put a huge amount of value on money, never asking for more than he needed, but he was sure he could come up with something.

"I'll ask around and see if any of the guys know someone who'd fit the bill," she said, looking like she'd let go of her harsh mood.

Of course just as he thought he was smooth sailing the door to the room reopened to reveal both Thomas and Martha, looking like they were half concerned half upset.

"Is everything okay here, Miss Graves?" Thomas asked, looking to the bodyguard.

"Yes it is, Mister Wayne," Mercy replied promptly without even a hint of uncertainty. "Just a… private interview your son decided to have with a pair of college newspaper reporters."

"I don't recall inviting any college reporters," Thomas said with a bit of disapproval in his voice.

This could turn out to be trouble if Thomas decided to make a whole big thing out of this and reported Vicki and Summer to the police. They were nice girls and didn't ask any out of the line questions. They even laughed at some of his jokes! They weren't even pretending! So the least he could do was try to cover their shapely butts from any unnecessary reprisals.

"That's 'cause I did," he said on the spur of the moment, putting his bullshitting talents to the test. "Remember that day in the park? Turns out we had a tail snapping pictures looking for the big scoop. I didn't know if it was anything to worry about so I didn't tell you right away. With some help from Mercy here I managed to track the shutterbug down and found out who she was, so I thought it'd be a good idea to invite her to the party."

"And why did you think it was a good idea? For that matter, if you invited her then why weren't we informed?" Martha asked with her hands on her hips in the universal disapproving mother position.

"Well to the first question I figured that since she was just getting into the whole journalism thing she probably still believed in the whole reporter integrity thing. Responsibility to the truth, the people have a right to know and the ethical use of the facts," he replied, really wondering how long he'd be able to fly by the seat of his pants in this conversation. "It sounded like a good perspective to get out there and, as it turns out, when I spooked her in the park she accidentally wound up breaking her camera, so I figured the least I could do was give her an interview."

This seemed to satisfy his… mother's first question, so he decided to go for a twofer and try to answer the second before it could be brought up again.

"As for why I didn't tell you… well, you two have been acting really edgy ever since you found me and, while I understand, I really do, I didn't think it'd be a good idea to add fuel to the fire," he said, looking back and forth to each of his parents to measure their responses. "Besides… I've always been the kind of guy who prefers asking for forgiveness instead of permission. Things go a lot faster that way."

While that wasn't entirely true, sometimes he did remember to ask for permission before doing something, it sounded better this way and stood a better chance of pacifying the adults. So he waited for the two to react or do something to give him an idea on which way things would slide. If they still decided to argue matters further, he could probably do the usual and make self-depreciating jokes until they gave in and let the matter drop.

The grins that forced their ways onto Thomas and Martha's face were definitely good indicators that there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

"I suppose we should've expected this," Thomas said as he turned to his wife grin still on his face.

"He is at that age, so it pretty much comes with the rest of it." Martha said with mild exasperation.

"Still, as responsible parents we can't just let him do whatever he wants," Thomas said, trying to sound like he had studied the matter thoroughly. "A good father sets limits after all."

Shit. NOW he was worried. Whenever the parental units started going back and forth like this it always spelled trouble for the child.

"So we'll let it slide this time, Xander, but from now on if you're going to have pretty girls in your room, I insist that Miss Graves be there to make sure that things don't get too crazy," Martha said before turning to look at Mercy. "Just talking and hanging out is okay, Miss Graves, but NO hanky panky. I might want to be a grandmother one day but not this soon."

He couldn't help but roll his eyes at this since he hadn't been expecting this sort of talk for a few weeks yet.

"And if he brings any girls here the door stays OPEN at all times," Thomas said, making it clear this was a rule not to be broken. "It might be a big mansion but the fact that anyone could walk by and see what they could be up to should be enough to make them watch their steps."

"DAD!" he exclaimed before he realized that he hadn't used the name 'Thomas' like he had been doing lately.

"Deal with it, son," Thomas said, sounding quite happy at the slip up. "When you're old enough to live on your own and mature enough that we can trust you not to do anything too foolish, THEN we'll do what we can to give you some space."

"Well then I guess I'll be the only guy to live and die a virgin because I don't plan on ever becoming that mature," he said, deciding to retaliate a bit. "Maturity takes all the fun out of things."

Everyone had a good chuckle at that but soon enough it was over.

"Well, it's just good to see that Miss Vale and Miss Gleeson have the right outlook when it comes to being reporters," Dad said, sounding like he was bringing things to a close. "Here's hoping they don't lose it."

"Now while normally I'd ask you to rejoin the party since you'd had a good break from the guests, I understand Miss Vreeland is still looking for you," Mom said, sounding like she disapproved of the rich redhead. "So I'll let you stay in your room until she leaves."

"Thanks. I'm having a hard enough time getting used to being rich," he said, remembering the predatory woman who'd prompted his hasty advance to the rear from the gathering. "Getting used to actually being attractive to the ladies is not something I want to deal with just yet."

"Well, you've got three months to get used to it," Dad said as he began to guide his wife out of the room. "After that you'll be attending Gotham Academy to finish off your high school education. Won't be able to avoid the looks then."

Gotham Academy? What kind of school was that?

"You ever hear of Gotham Academy, Mercy?" he asked, hoping his bodyguard had some kind of clue.

"Yes. It's a school for Gotham's upper elite. Basically if you're rich or powerful your kids go to school there." Mercy replied after a moment's thought.

"A school full of Cordelia's, Cordettes and snotty rich boys!?" he exclaimed as his mind came up with some very unpleasant scenarios.

"Technically you are a rich boy now and looks-wise would fit in with the rest of them," Mercy pointed out with a small grin of amusement.

"At least tell me that redheaded piranha won't be there," he asked since it'd be a lot harder to escape the young woman during class or in a building where he couldn't go wherever he wanted.

"Sorry, I'm pretty sure she does go there," Mercy said as her grin grew.

"Uuggghh. I don't suppose your job parameters include keeping gold diggers and bullies away?" he asked as he realized that three months might not be enough to prepare for such torment.

"Only if they threaten you with physical violence," Mercy said, sounding a bit more serious. "If it's just words then you're on your own."

"Great," he grumbled as he remembered how inventive the jocks and Cordettes had been with just words. "Just GREAT!"

 _ **William Earle's POV**_

 _So he'll be going to Gotham Academy,_ he thought as he finished reading his informant's report. _Good. They owe me some favors there and I have some dirt on a few of the students there that I can use to my advantage._

He'd been waiting for just this sort of development before setting any serious plans into motion. He'd had some possibilities floating about his head, made some inquiries, but nothing he needed to commit resources to. Now, though, he knew where to focus his efforts, so all he needed was to find the right threads to weave together into a cohesive plan. The ideal starting point would be to arrange for some 'friends' to approach him at the academy to show him around and point out things of interest. He'd have to make sure that whoever he chose to befriend Bruce wouldn't have any alarming notes on their records that would denote them as someone to be avoided by the Wayne's new security force. Thomas had competent guards for his heir and they were smart enough to do background checks on everyone Bruce came into contact with. Whoever he asked to get close would have to pass any checks run on them, or at least be clean enough to warrant nothing more than a moderate warning.

As for the faculty members, there were a few he could call on.

Professor Milo, one of the chemistry teachers, could be prevailed upon to perhaps create something subtle enough to pass most chemical analysis tests but potent enough to affect Bruce. He imagined it would have to be something gradual that would build up in the system so as not to be noticed or seen as unusual. Something that would be written off as 'natural' to anyone who saw it but would make Bruce both reckless and defiant. That would generate enough bad publicity that he could take to the Wayne Enterprises board of directions as a sign that Bruce should be locked out of any line of succession.

However his ultimate pawn would come in the form of one Doctor Hugo Strange, who worked at the Academy as a guidance counselor. He would also be one of the most costly, given the man's… hobbies. While he did have sufficient evidence to make the man listen to his request, he knew he'd need something more if he was going to persuade the man to do as he asked. That meant either ideal test subjects for the man's personal experiments or hardware that the psychologist couldn't acquire on his own. Once his allegiance was assured he'd task the man with using his skills to do a little 'redecorating' inside Bruce's mind. Perhaps turn him against Thomas while seeing him as an ideal ally. If that proved to be too difficult then he would have to settle for installing certain behavioral traits that would make the young man unfit to run a company.

Naturally he would have the 'friends' he arranged for Bruce to have to facilitate and enable any flaws that the faculty members inserted but he'd warn them not to be too obvious about it. He couldn't risk any flags being raised with Thomas and Martha that would cause them to give their son a check up either medically or psychologically. It would render all his efforts meaningless and put them on high alert for trouble for months afterwards.

Through the 'friends', though, he would have enough advance warning of Bruce's movements to determine if any entertainment venues could be used to further his plans. Everyone had secrets. Everyone had a skeleton or two in their closet. He'd made it a hobby of his to collect such secrets and skeletons in order to achieve his goals. If he didn't have dirt on someone, he had the means to acquire it for the right price.

However, like with most things, it all came down to the planning and the timing.

 _I've worked too hard to rise to the top of Wayne Enterprises to be thwarted by some punk!_ he thought with a momentary spike of anger. _I will not be robbed of the power I deserve without a fight!_

 _ **Wayne Family Limo**_

 _ **Xander's POV**_

"Time to go swim with the piranhas," he mumbled as the limo came to a stop in front of the gates of Gotham Academy.

"It's not going to be that bad, Bruce," Tho—Dad said with a reassuring smile on his face. "Despite how Hollywood shows them, rich people aren't any different from the people you knew back home. They're just a little more… driven."

"Driven?" he asked, sounding a little concerned.

"They've probably been told since they were young that success won't come to you. You have to take action and go get what you want," Dad said truthfully even as his expression implied that he was being selective with what he revealed. "They've been told to aim high and not be happy with just coasting along. They've also learned to be very good at reading people. They can spot liars and will be quick to get your measure."

"So basically it's a zoo in there," he said, finding much of the info to match how Cordy and the Cordettes acted back home. "You're either predator or prey."

"Pretty much, but you'll find people you can trust if you keep your eyes open and use your head," Dad said as Alfred opened the door.

"Sure. No problem. Gotcha," he said as he adjusted the straps on his backpack and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Looking down at himself, he couldn't help but shake his head since he'd never once in a million years thought he'd be wearing anything like it. It was your basic elite academy uniform: shiny dress shoes, suit pants, blazer with a patch above his heart made to look like the academy's coat of arms, a white dress shirt and lastly a fairly unremarkable black tie. Honestly he felt distinctly uncomfortable in the outfit but according to his Dad the uniform was mandatory and deviations from a prescribed appearance would be greatly frowned upon.

 _Typical. If it's not conformity, it's obedience,_ he thought before beginning his casual walk towards the open gates of the institution. _It's the same in every school but at least back in Sunnydale I could wear what I like._

As he proceeded up the walkway to the main entrance, he could see other students heading for the same place, with some looking no older than fourteen years old while others were probably a year older than him. None of them were looking at him and for a moment he thought that maybe, just maybe, he'd get a break from being everyone's favorite topic of discussion.

After the 'little get together' at Wayne Manor to formally announce his return and the announcement that he'd be going back to school in three months, he'd taken it upon himself to treat the time like a summer vacation. Before the destruction of Sunnydale that would've meant trips to the beach, hanging out with LL and Willow in one of their living rooms or catching the latest Hollywood blockbuster at the local theatre. He'd known right off the bat that hanging out with his friends was out since they were either out of town or in no state to be doing anything other than sucking back fresh oxygen. So he'd decided to go with catching a movie as the first thing to do as the newly returned Bruce Wayne but that had turned out to be a mistake. Not only did the theatre staff trip over each other multiple times trying to give him good customer service but all the other customers trying to ask him questions or snap pictures.

To the credit of the middle class people present, most of them did quiet down once the movie began but eventually he had to consciously ignore the chatter.

Definitely spoiled the movie.

After that he asked his Dad if a private movie room could be installed into the manor and a deal worked out with the theatre chain to let him watch certain movies at home. He'd been more than a little surprised when a week later there were construction workers modifying a suitably large room to look like a mini-theatre complete with a fully stocked concession stand at the back of the room. Two weeks after that and it was done with an employee from the theater at the front door with the movie that he'd been kept from enjoying in hand. It was definitely not something he'd been expecting since he'd made tons of wishes and requests over the years, to Tony and Jessica in the beginning then just to his friends later on, but they'd never been fulfilled. To have one of his wishes granted? Well, it was safe to say that there were definitely some perks to being rich, to actually having the resources to do what you wanted rather than just dream about it, but his joy had been muted somewhat by the fact that he didn't really have anyone to enjoy it with. He might be getting closer to his parents but there was still a ways to go before he'd automatically think to invite them for movie night or be able to completely enjoy with them.

Still, the movies had been enough to help pass the time and that, added to Alfred's phenomenal cooking, made being without his friends easier.

Then came a week ago.

On the negative side of things the whole 'family' had gone to the Academy's administration offices to meet with Headmaster Hammer, who'd personally volunteered to handle his paperwork. The man was DEFINITELY in the wrong profession since, in his opinion, the man would be much happier running a maximum security prison. While on the surface the man was perfectly polite, he could tell with a look that the guy considered every student in his keeping to be hopeless and worthless in all ways save one; the wealth they possessed and could therefore donate to the academy with some careful prodding.

Aside from that he got the distinct impression that Hammer would have a smile on his face and a bowl of popcorn in his lap if the Academy ever burned down with every student trapped inside.

On the plus side, though, since the Academy was uniform mandatory that meant he'd been able to skip out on getting a whole new wardrobe like most high schoolers. Sure, he imagined that with every major event that demanded 'Bruce Wayne' be in attendance he'd probably have to get a new outfit, but that was only until he managed to get through all the firsts. Once they were done with his closet would be full and there'd be a multi-year respite before he'd have to try on half the clothes in a mall or store. Not that he minded new clothes but a lot of the new stuff that he'd put on so far… it just wasn't him. Sure, there were things that looked good on just about any man, like a black and white suit, but some of the other stuff was rich people clothing. He remembered joking with Jessie a couple of times about the outfits Cordy and her Cordettes came to school in, mocking everything from how much it'd probably cost them to how long it'd stay in their closet.

Being of middle class means, both him and Jessie were more for practicality as well as longevity than keeping up with the latest fashions.

Fashions changed every season, with no two years being quite the same, so it wasn't like you could coast on five year stretches before relearning what was cool and what wasn't.

Now… now he had a feeling that he was going to have to take fashion much more seriously.

 _Joy._

Entering the building, he took out the piece of paper that had a map of the building on it he looked for the location of his first class of the day. Sure, it made him look like a complete noob but that was okay because that's what he was, plus it at least made him look a LITTLE self-reliant whereas asking a random passerby for directions would make him look completely useless. After a little pondering he figured out the map and resumed heading to the classroom he needed to be in before the bell rang. Letting his mind and gaze drift a bit as he walked he found that a lot of the students were cookie-cutterish in their appearance, not just in clothes but also in hairstyles. There was little if any individual expression and he had a feeling that if anyone tried to push the envelope too far Headmaster Hammer would descend on them like a storm. Kind of like that saying 'the one that stands out gets hammered down first', or at least that's how he thought it went.

 _Odds are that I'm going to need some serious venting every day after school,_ he thought as he spotted the sign above the door of his destination classroom.

Entering the classroom, he could see that some students were already sitting down behind their desks while others were by the window or just standing about. Just like every other public place he'd gone too in the last month the second one person laid their eyes on him and recognized who he was the rest of the room's occupants soon followed. After that came the whispering, the pointing and he sighed as his hope that being amongst the rich elite would make him less of an attraction. Looking about he tried to figure out which of the student desks didn't already have an occupant and, once he found one with no school supplies on it or a backpack on the chair, he moved towards it. Setting his backpack on the back of the empty chair, he sat down before opening the top to extract his stuff.

Now some might think that he was being unusually studious considering his previous career as a slacker but, the way he saw it, with Willow in a coma he needed to be as smart as two people. That meant taking things seriously and applying himself to the best of his ability and that would be a first for him. Back in Sunnydale he'd only ever applied himself to two things: junk food and helping the Slayer. Aside from those two things he pretty much went with the flow of things, never putting any more effort than he needed to or wanted to. To him, thanks to his deadbeat surrogate parents, he knew he'd never have enough money for college and, without the necessary credentials, would never be able to get a high paying job. Therefore in his mind there was no point to working harder than he had to just to make a passing grade if there was no sufficiently big payoff at the end of trail.

Sure, Willow hadn't liked this point of view and through blackmail and bribery had managed to get him to work hard enough to keep up with her in her advanced classes, but it'd been hard as hell.

Whether or not that was because it actually had been hard or because his heart hadn't been in it, he didn't know. All he did know was that he was going to do his best friend proud by applying himself in every class so that WHEN she woke up she'd be smiling for weeks with pride.

He wouldn't be the smartest person to graduate from the Gotham Academy, he wasn't that lucky, but if he could at least manage to surpass the expectations of those around him that'd be good enough.

Maybe he'd even succeed in surprising himself.

Who knew what the future held for him now?


End file.
